


Everything That Comes After

by skai_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: After that!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anomaly time!, Bellamy and Clarke I mean, Clarke Griffin Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Clarke Griffin needs a break damn it, Clarke is still dying whoops, F/M, Heavy Angst, Not for Echo antis, Octavia Blake Ships It, POV Clarke Griffin, POV John Murphy (The 100), Suicidal Thoughts, and she's allowed to be angry, and then angst!, because its not all about the anomaly, bellamy learns to chill out, but OG! Raven returns, canon divergent after 6x12, echo and clarke would be a great duo but writers did them dirty in terms of development, i dont wanna say speculation because jason would NEVER, just stay tuned y'all, kind of a road trip au but with motorcycles???, no hate for Echo in this house, pov of a few other characters if necessary, raisin reyes is a clown, spacekru more like clownkru, story continues for a while after the anomaly problem is solved, team cockroach bonding fic, the reveal of Ash! Echo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: Clarke Griffin has died many times before, but the problem is, she thinks it's for real this time. With her options and her patience dwindling, she's forced to confront an unknown solution with a surprising ally.John Murphy has never been good at accountability, but with an estranged friend spiraling towards her end and guilt consuming him, he takes on a dangerous mission to save her.And regardless of what happens next, everyone has to deal with everything that comes after.tw: suidical thoughts, some mentions of violence





	1. The Liar's Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly need to stop writing in second person but oh well
> 
> think of this as a way to explore the mental aftermath of all that has happened to these people, because i feel like that really needs to be addressed.
> 
> note: this is not a very happy story. it will have an ending that doesn't result in the death of any main characters or permanent damage, but the bulk of this story is not humorous or light. So if that's what you're looking for, this may not be for you.
> 
> see the notes down below for a preview of the next chapter!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a problem. Murphy has a score to settle.

There's blood and there's violence and then there's silence.

The war against the Primes ends like a silent exhale, shoulders drooping and eyes falling shut. There's a gun against your head and then there isn't, there's Sheidheda and then there isn't, there's Daniel and Kaylee Prime and then there isn't.

You watch your former friends, smiling and laughing on their way to the Sanctum bar.

_I lost my mother today._

Bellamy hasn't even come to find you. Which is okay; he deserves a break from thinking he's obligated to make you happy.

_I lost my mother today._

"Clarke," a small voice says, and you turn your head.

"Madi," you murmur, pulling her into a tight hug. "I thought you were going to be at the machine shop for the deletion."

"Yeah, but it seems Raven's busy," Madi mutters, and you swallow your words about Raven, pulling back and putting your hands on Madi's shoulders.

"Are you scared?" you ask her.

"A little," Madi admits, and you hug her again. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Madi," you assure her. 

"Will you be there?" she asks hopefully, and you can't help but swallow.

"I don't know, Madi," you mumble. "I don't think so." You try not to wince at the way Madi's face falls, but to her credit, she doesn't ask you why.

"Go," you insist. "Gaia's waiting for you."

You watch your child bound away, and there's pressure building in your chest and behind your eyes, bile rising in your throat.

Your mouth tastes like bitter metal; like blood. 

And then your head starts to spin, the sky turning and turning, the rubble around you becoming an indistinguishable blur.

You find yourself with your hands braced against a wall and black blood coming out of your mouth and your nose, but it doesn't worry you. Not yet.

_It's just stress, _you assure yourself, but the excuse is insubstantial; who the hell vomits blood when they're stressed?

_But I'll be okay._

_I'll be okay._

* * *

_I'm proud of you, Murphy._

His head hurts.

"John," Emori mumbles, touching his cheek. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he assures her. "I think so. Guess I'm a little tired."

"You just helped bring down Sanctum from the inside," Echo says proudly. "I think anyone would be tired."

"Don't put me on the level of just anyone, E," he grumbles, and she laughs, something Murphy's sure she's never done before her time on the Ring. Her arm is around Bellamy's shoulders, and that's when he realizes Clarke's absence.

_You wanted her dead. Why do you care now?_

_(I never wanted her dead.)_

"Where's Clarke?" Murphy blurts. The last time he saw her, there were tears in her eyes as she told him that she was proud of him. 

_And she knows you betrayed her._

"She's..." Bellamy trails off.

"I'm sure she's fine," Raven says impassively. "It's Clarke, isn't it? She's always okay."

"You know, except when she's _dead," _he says, setting his glass down. Everyone else stops too, turning to look at him.

"Clarke's not dead," Raven reminds him. "Not anymore."

"And that's just it?" Murphy asks quietly. "We can leave her alone just as long as she's not dead in a ditch somewhere covered in her own blood?"

"Murphy," Bellamy chokes out. "That wasn't necessary."

"He's right," Echo says quietly, and Murphy's surprised; for some reason, he expected the relationship to be strained at best between Echo and Clarke because of their connections to Bellamy, but then again, it was Echo who defended Clarke in the first place.

_While you made her unwanted and unloved because it was the winning side of the argument._

"We should check on her," Echo continues. 

"You don't even know where she is," Murphy mumbles. "None of us do."

The door of the bar opens and the subject of the conversation herself walks in, looking exceedingly pale except for the dark bruises under her eyes. Murphy watches her go sit down at the bar and talk a little with Gabriel, who's acting as a temporary bartender, before she puts her head in her hands. Gabriel reaches out and taps her hands, making her look up. Murphy glances at Bellamy, who's determinedly looking at something else.

"She looks fine to me," Raven says.

"Raven, I get that Abby died and everything—" Emori starts.

"Don't talk to me about her," Raven snaps.

"She was Clarke's mother, too," Echo sighs, disentangling herself from Bellamy and standing up. "I'm going to go talk to her."

After Echo leaves, Raven's scowl deepens. "I just don't get why have to go around treating her like this poor, broken princess again."

"Because she has feelings, too, Raven," Murphy says. "She can feel pain just like anyone else."

"No, she can't," Raven shoots back.

"For god's sake, Raven, you can't hold a grudge forever," Bellamy implores. "She kept us alive. Just like always." Bellamy looks at the blonde now, some strong, overwhelming emotion in his eyes that Murphy can't really decipher. "She did it."

"Maybe if she was good enough, Abby would still be alive," Raven spits, and Murphy hears a sharp intake of breath. Everyone turns their head to see Clarke and Echo standing by the table, with Echo's arm around Clarke's shoulders.

"Raven, what the fuck—" Murphy mutters.

"Wait—I didn't—" Raven splutters, gaping at Clarke, but the latter shakes her head.

"Forget it, Raven," Clarke says, and Murphy can't see any emotion on her face anymore. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna go."

"Clarke, wait—" Echo says, reaching for Clarke's hand, but she's already too far. Bellamy rockets up and out of his chair, making a beeline for Clarke as she walks out of the bar.

* * *

_Abby would still be alive._

_(I lost my mother today)_

Your hands are trembling.

_Abby would still be alive._

The worst part is, Raven's right—you knew Mom became a nightblood. You knew she was in danger. If you just stayed, she wouldn't have died.

_If you were good enough—_

You let yourself collapse onto the bench by the lake where Bellamy always drowned Murphy during the eclipse. You don't notice anyone around, but you still don't cry. You're not sure why or how it's so hard for you, for a single tear to escape your eyes now.

You look down at your hands, and suddenly you remember a knife tearing into the chest of the woman who looked like your mother and had the same voice as your mother but wasn't your mother, but how you ran to her anyway, cradling the body until it stopped breathing. You weren't even there to witness Russell being floated—all you could do is stare at your mother's eyes, unable to even close them yourself.

"Clarke?"

You flinch. "What?" you ask without looking at him.

Tanned and freckled fingers pry your own away from your skin, and you look down to see that you dug your nails into your skin hard enough to produce small beads of black blood.

"Clarke, can you look at me?"

You can't—you're afraid you'll shatter into a million pieces if you do. 

"No," you say shortly. "I'm fine. Go back to them."

"Not until you look at me," Bellamy murmurs.

You look up but you focus your gaze on his nose, even smiling a little. It hurts your face, makes you nauseous. "See? Fine."

There's a finger under your chin, but you jerk your face away. "Bellamy, not now," you snap. "I want—"

You sigh, trying to soften your tone. "I want to be alone. _Please."_

"Clarke, you shouldn't be alone," Bellamy implores, kneeling so his face is level with yours. "You should be around someone, at least."

"I've been alone before," you say, staring straight into his eyes, and there's a temporary flare of guilt in your stomach when you see Bellamy's reaction to that. "I think I'm okay," you add. "I will be."

He crosses his arms. "Is it unreasonable that I'm not buying it?"

"What would you like me to say, Bellamy? You want me to list and relive everything?" you ask, your tone surprisingly even. "Okay. I died twice on this moon. I watched my daughter get tortured both from something inside her head and an actual person. My mother died twice, and I was there the second time." You almost tell him about the nosebleed, but you decide not to. 

"Clarke, I'm—"

"Sorry? Me, too. I'm not okay. If that's what you want to hear, then I'm sorry. I'm not okay. And I also want to be alone right now."

"Clarke, we're in this together," he assures you, taking your hand.

"I know," you answer, and it hurts more to say that now that you're hiding something from him. "We are. But I can't be around anyone right now. I don't want to be. You have to understand that, Bellamy."

"I... okay," he concedes. "But what about the deletion?"

"Raven will take care of it."

Bellamy winces. "I'm sorry about her."

You shrug, so, _so _close to bursting into tears. "She's right. I knew Mom became a nightblood. I knew she would be in danger."

"No, Clarke, you went and you were able to rally Niylah and Indra's forces into overpowering Russell. _You _stopped him from disabling the army. _You _bought us enough time to take it down from the inside. You don't get to blame yourself."

"No, that's—that's your family's job," you mumble, your voice faltering as you shoot to your feet. "I'm gonna—I don't feel well—" 

This is clearly the wrong thing to say, as Bellamy grabs your shoulders. "Really? Do we need to—"

"No!" you gasp, then sigh. "No," you say, your voice softer. "I'm just dead on my feet, you know? I'm so tired. I'm gonna go rest for a while."

"Yeah, yeah, that's alright," Bellamy says, releasing you, and it takes all of your effort to not run from him.

* * *

"Where is she?" Echo asks when Bellamy walks back into the bar, and Murphy stares into his glass.

"She's not feeling well," Bellamy says. "She's going to _rest."_

"Bellamy—" Raven starts.

"No, Raven," Bellamy says firmly, and Murphy's reminded of a younger Bellamy, commanding a hundred people with a single glance. _"You _need to learn when to take responsibility. _You _need to understand that every single one of us has done bad things, and even so, we wouldn't be alive without Clarke."

_"I _haven't done bad things," Raven snarls.

"Shut the hell up," Murphy breathes.

"What was that?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"I _said," _Murphy snaps, getting up. _"Shut—up."_

"So you're on her side now?" Raven asks.

"She died alone and afraid thinking we didn't give a shit about her," Murphy says, shaking. "Did you ever think about that?"

"If we're being realistic here, she's the one out of all of us who deserved that outcome the most!" Raven hisses, and there's a bang and small exclamation, and suddenly Echo's holding Bellamy back by his jacket.

"Guys," Gabriel says, cleaning a glass. "Take it outside."

"I'm done with this shit," Raven snaps, getting up and walking out, and Murphy's startled to see tears streaming down Bellamy's cheeks.

"She has—_no right—"_

"I know, Bellamy," Echo says soothingly, gently pushing him back down into his seat. "I know."

* * *

Staying in Josie's place in the Sanctum castle was the only logical option for you because it was the place you were most familiar with, and it also happened to offer a place to be which was far away from everyone.

But it still doesn't make you feel entirely comfortable—having to wear her clothes and stay in her place as if you were still her.

But you find yourself outside in a sweater and leggings, staring at stars you don't know.

Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Blinking hurts. Existing hurts.

Over the course of your life, you've always had different ideas about what your lowest point was. And even in that desert after Praimfaya, with a gun to your head, you were desperate for a reason to keep going, a reason to return to who you once were. But now, even that simply drive is gone, leaving a gaping hole in its place.

"Hey," a voice says behind you, and you spot Octavia Blake. "Can I join you?"

You swallow and nod. "Sure."

Octavia plants herself on the bench next to you and stares into the lake. "Diyoza should be having the baby soon."

"That's great," you say monotonously.

"For her, yeah," Octavia sighs. "Doesn't look like you're too thrilled."

"I am," you mumble. "I just don't know how to react."

You feel something warm on your hand, and you glance down to see Octavia's pale hand on top of yours.

"I'm so sorry about your mother," Octavia says, her voice soft and so achingly sincere, it reminds you of the Octavia you knew back when you first landed. "I don't know if anyone's said that to you until now."

"They haven't," you find yourself admitting. "They don't really say anything nice to me anymore."

Octavia lets out a humorless laugh. "I can imagine." She raises her head to the sky now, smiling sadly. "Look at us, Clarke. Punished for existing and trying to lead. I guess the only difference between us is that you actually did it well. I screwed up."

"Hey," you say suddenly, grabbing her hand. "I know I was about to kill you, but..."

"But what?" Octavia asks softly.

"It was so brave," you tell her. "To become a leader at seventeen."

"You were seventeen, too—"

"Let me finish," you sigh. "I know it can't have been easy. I know that with all my heart. But given the circumstances, I know you did better than most. I know you tried, and it may not have worked and it may have broken you, but you _tried. _And while no one can easily be forgiven for the things you've done, I don't think people should forget how hard you _tried."_

Octavia looks away, tears clinging precariously to her eyelashes.

"And besides," you add quietly. "I think you're still good. And you're getting better."

"Don't fucking make me cry," Octavia sniffles, crying. "Shit."

She lets out a watery laugh and puts her head on your shoulder, and you're startled by how easily Octavia initiates the gesture, how much like the younger Octavia she seems to be.

"It's okay," you murmur, resting your head atop hers. "It's fine, you know."

"It's not okay," Octavia mutters. "It's not just fine. We're a long way from where we need to be."

"Yeah, I—" you start, but you stop talking.

"Clarke?" Octavia asks.

You pull away, trying to inhale. "Octavia, I can't—I can't breathe."

"You can't breathe?" she asks, hovering near you. "Clarke, help me out here."

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—and it hurts so bad that you scream. It's bombs in your skull and swords in your lungs and blood, so much of it.

_I'm dying. _

You slide off the bench and land on your back, your body shaking as blood bubbles and trickles from your nose, and you think you feel Octavia's hands on your shoulders, maybe hear her screaming.

You never wanted it to hurt—not like this. Not in a way that made Praimfaya feel like a paper cut.

Not without _him._

You die trying to hold on to an image of his face.

* * *

Even in sleep, her lips are curved downward into a perpetual frown.

"Is she still in there?" Echo asks.

"I don't think so," Gabriel murmurs, brushing a bit of hair away from Clarke's mouth. "But Clarke's mind and body were under too much stress way too soon. I figured something like that would happen but I didn't think it would halt the healing process completely."

Everyone turns to look at Bellamy, who's oddly silent. Murphy can feel the tension radiating off of him in waves, and he wishes he could say something to make it better.

"Is she—going—to die?" Bellamy says haltingly.

Gabriel's silence is enough of an answer.

"How long?" Echo asks, and Murphy's alarmed to see her crying.

"Days," Gabriel answers tersely. "Maybe. If she's lucky."

"What the fuck do you mean, 'if she's lucky?'" Emori chokes out.

"She'll wake up again," Gabriel murmurs. "Her vitals are doing okay. But she'll have seizures. More and more. Longer and longer. She won't live through all of them."

"No way. She _has _to," Raven says shakily.

"Raven, don't act like you mean that," Murphy whispers.

"But I _do _mean it!" she argues.

"Clarke's dying," he says, and then a little, hysterical laugh falls from his lips, because Clarke and dying could never be said in the same sentence. "She's _dying. _Guess you got what you wanted."

Tears sting his eyes, and he doesn't even care that he's crying in front of people now.

_All I wanted to do is say that I'm sorry._

_("She cared about you, Murphy.")_

_I cared, too._

"There's a way," Octavia says suddenly.

"A way for what?" Echo asks. "To keep her alive longer?"

"Not just that—a way to heal her." Octavia locks eyes with Gabriel, and something passes between them, something reminds Murphy of Bellamy and Clarke back on Earth.

"No. No _way," _Gabriel mutters. "Octavia—"

_"I _came back," Octavia implores. "And I think she can, too."

"What the hell is she talking about?" Emori asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bellamy says gruffly, turning to face them. "She wants to take Clarke to the Anomaly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll take you, then," Murphy says immediately.
> 
> "Why, so you can finish the job while no one's watching?" Clarke asks, her tone cold and humorless. "Just let me die on my own this time."
> 
> He can't remember the last time Clarke spoke to him like this, and it hurts him more than he'd like to admit.
> 
> "No," he says firmly. "You're not dying on us this time."


	2. Just Let It Go (For Now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's unsure of whether she wants a solution to her problem. Meanwhile, Murphy works to try and repair the rift between himself and Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well the s6 finale made me want to jump out a window  
also was murphy's bisexuality just confirmed  
sorry gang this chapter kinda SUCKS

When you wake, you're afraid to open your eyes.

_I shouldn't have fallen asleep, what if I'm back there, in that cell, with all my memories—_

But then you remember that Josephine is long gone—you remember everything that happened.

_I'm dead._

Your eyes flutter open—you tentatively take a breath.

You're on a bed, and there's a familiar smell surrounding you, something comforting and warm.

_Bellamy._

This sends you rocketing upwards, touching your nose and your mouth and looking frantically around the room. Your hands are clutching a long cardigan—Bellamy's.

"Shit," you mumble, stumbling as you drag yourself out of bed. 

"Going somewhere?" a voice asks dryly behind you, and you close your eyes.

"Murphy," you say quietly. "Don't tell me you're dead, too."

"None of us are dead," Murphy sighs. "Not yet, anyway."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" he asks softly. Clarke snatches Bellamy's cardigan off the bed and shrugs it on, the gesture looking as easy as breathing.

"I feel fine," Clarke murmurs, and it's still hard for Murphy to completely banish the memory of Josephine's voice, to tell it apart from Clarke's lower tone.

"Well," Murphy continues, still maintaining his normal voice for some reason. "Long story short, you're dying. Your brain is hemorrhaging."

Clarke glances at the floor. "I figured."

"Of course you did," Murphy mumbles. "Anyways, they wanna take you to the Anomaly. See if that'll set you straight."

To his surprise, Clarke lets out a dry laugh. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"I—what?"

"I'm saying you guys should just let it go this time," she sighs. "I think I've avoided dying long enough.

"And besides," she continues, "I don't think I'm in any condition to get to the Anomaly."

"I'll take you, then," Murphy says immediately.

"Why, so you can finish the job while no one's watching?" Clarke asks, her tone cold and humorless. "Just let me die on my own this time."

He can't remember the last time Clarke spoke to him like this, and it hurts him more than he'd like to admit.

"No," he says firmly. "You're not dying on us this time."

"I wish I could understand what it is that you guys want with me, Murphy," Clarke says. "No point in trying to save me if no one really wants me around."

"Bellamy wants you around—"

There's a blur of movement and then Clarke's hands are clutching Murphy's collar, her face contorted with rage. "Listen, Murphy. I've had a shitty couple of days. You know that, right? If the only two reasons you want me alive is to keep Bellamy content and to constantly remind me of every bad thing I've done—"

Tears fill her eyes, and the door opens, revealing Echo holding a glass of water. Clarke releases his shirt and turns away.

"Is something wrong?" Echo asks worriedly.

"Yeah. Sorry, Murphy," Clarke murmurs, sitting down. Echo gives Murphy a questioning look before going to kneel in front of Clarke, transferring the water to her hands. Even Clarke looks surprised by Echo's gentleness, but she drinks all the water pretty quickly.

"So," Echo says, looking at him, "did Murphy give you all the details?"

"Sure," Clarke says listlessly. "How's Madi?"

"Madi's ready," Echo tells her. "Sheidheda hasn't made any surprise appearances so far, so hopefully the deletion will go without a hitch."

"That's good," Clarke sighs. "That's really good."

"Yeah, but, we still have other things to worry about," Murphy says. "Like you."

Clarke scowls, but doesn't say anything.

"Murphy volunteered to accompany you to the Anomaly," Echo explains. "Bellamy wanted to, but I told him he'd had enough worrying for a while."

"Echo, I don't think we should go," Clarke says gently.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Clarke wants to die," Murphy clarifies.

"Murphy," Clarke says warningly.

"How cowardly is that, Clarke?" Murphy asks, his hands twitching. "To leave the people you love behind—"

His head collides sickeningly with the wall, and Clarke's arm is against his throat, choking him, killing him. Echo's yelling and her hands are on Clarke's shoulders, but Clarke's stronger than she looks. She shoves Murphy downward, pushing him on his back with his head against the wall.

"Don't—call me—a coward," she whispers, her voice breaking and faltering. Clarke's tears drip onto Murphy's cheeks, and Murphy gets choked up with some emotion he can't name, that seems too intense for words. A horrible sort of sorrow, maybe. Something deep and bitter.

In his blurred vision, he can vaguely see Bellamy pull Clarke off of him. He can hear choked, barely muffled sobs.

_I didn't mean it. _

He didn't mean a lot of things, but it all happened anyway. And there was nothing he could do. And he's not brave enough to apologize, either.

"Murphy."

Echo's arms are near him, pulling him up. He's in a daze, unsure of what to say or do.

"Just let it go," Echo murmurs, as if reading his mind. "Let it go. For now."

* * *

"Clarke."

You fiddle with the loose threads of Bellamy's cardigan, looking at the floor. You're only in a tank top underneath, and you don't really want to wear your bloodstained sweater.

"Clarke, just look at me."

You look into Bellamy's eyes, hating yourself, hating how childish you acted. Hating how you lost control, hating how much you felt. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be," he sighs. "Besides, I'm not the one you would've had to apologize to, anyway."

You tilt your head, staring out at the window.

"Hey," Bellamy says softly, holding your wrist in his hand. "What are you thinking about?"

This question gives you pause, making you lock eyes with him again in a silent question.

"Usually, I can tell," he says, smiling softly. "But not now."

You're not exactly sure what you're thinking about, so you lie. "I'm thinking about the Anomaly."

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "There's nothing to be worried about."

"Thinking," you clarify. "Not worrying."

"That's a first."

It's his smile and the crinkle next to eyes that have you thinking about things you shouldn't be. If you were someone more, someone better, and if he wasn't already happy with someone who wasn't you, you would lean forward and place a kiss on that smile, on his cheeks, on his forehead.

You glance away, your expression sobering.

"Hey, I know you think we don't care," Bellamy murmurs. "But we do. We want you to live."

_We. Not I._

You remember the faint quality of his voice in your mindspace—

_("I'm not losing you again." "I need you.")_

_We. Not I._

You long to be selfish for just once—you long to let it all go, to finally reach the escape that dying would provide for you.

_You can't be selfish. Not you._

"Okay," you say, your heart tearing itself apart, your mind screaming in protest. "I'll go."

* * *

The following sunrise, you absentmindedly pull at the collar of the new leather jacket you're wearing, leaning against a motorcycle. You hear someone approaching, and you smile a little at Gabriel.

"Hey," he says, and you see Octavia, too. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. Normal," you answer.

"Yeah, well, we talked to Murphy about what to do if you showed any signs of a stroke," Octavia assures you. "It wouldn't be an ideal situation, but it's best to be prepared."

"Since when do you know how to ride a motorcycle, by the way?" Gabriel asks.

"I, um, I took a few of Josephine's memories."

Gabriel nods, looking less bothered than you expected him to be. "What else did you take?"

"I can speak Mandarin," you say. "And identify most plant life in the forests here."

Gabriel smiles softly, a little sadly. "Well, that's good. I'm just worried about Murphy."

"Raven gave me a crash course," Murphy drawls from a few feet away. "It's pretty straightforward."

"Yeah, well, be safe," Octavia says, stepping around Gabriel to put her hands on your shoulders. You lean forward and you hug her, nodding at Gabriel over her shoulder.

"Hey!"

Your head whips around at the familiar voice, and you find yourself in Bellamy's arms. You tilt your head down and bury your face in his shoulder for a few seconds, trying to commit every detail of him to memory.

And then you pull away, the moment broken, fading into the wind.

He looks at you the way he did when you woke up after he breathed life back into your lungs, heartbreakingly open and so purely vulnerable. He reluctantly lets go of your arms, and then you turn to Echo.

"You be careful, alright?" Echo asks, pulling you in a brisk hug. "I don't want you to die again."

_I. Not we._

You smile at her, and she smiles back.

"Emori and Raven aren't coming?" Octavia asks quietly.

Murphy shakes his head, and then you feel a small body colliding into you.

"Madi," you sigh, looking down and smiling. "Why are you awake?"

"I wanted to see you before you left," she says breathlessly. "The deletion's happening either today or tomorrow, and—"

"Madi," you murmur. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

_Would she be okay if you died?_

"Okay, Clarke," she concedes. "I love you."

"Love you, too," you tell her, leaning forward and pressing a kiss into the side of her head. "I'll—I'll be back soon, okay?"

You stand, and then face Gabriel.

"I can't understand why I'm not going," he says sullenly. "I could use the research."

"They decided, not me," you say, and a horrible suspicion washes over you. Why _isn't _Gabriel coming? Could this all be some elaborate plan to kill you—?

"The less people we put at risk, the better," Murphy says firmly.

"Then I could go instead of Murphy," Gabriel insists.

"No," Murphy says. "I have to do this."

"Gabe," Octavia says quietly, and you see Bellamy's eyebrows rise a little. "It's okay."

Gabriel reaches out and touches your shoulder, his eyes impossibly soft. You can't help but wonder if he still sees Josephine in you, but then you remember the way you catch him glancing at Octavia when she isn't looking and you aren't so sure.

"I'm gonna go back to sleep," Madi says, backing away. "Be safe, Clarke."

"You, too," you say softly, but she's already running back. You turn around and grab the helmet, and Bellamy gives you a one-armed hug before you can put it on.

"Come back, okay?" he requests, his voice low. "I—"

"I know," you interrupt. Neither of you have to say something you'll regret. Not now, anyway. You fasten the helmet and adjust your backpack before swinging a leg over the seat, and you watch Murphy do the same.

"Ready, Griffin?" he calls.

You remember the feeling that filled your whole body the last time you rode a motorcycle, and you find the corners of your mouth rising a little. "Yeah."

And with that, the two of you are racing off and into the crops.

* * *

Echo watches them go, not daring to look at Bellamy's expression.

She knows she'd find heartbreak and loss and worry in his eyes, and she also knows that she would never see that look in his eyes when it came to her.

Bellamy loves her, she's sure of that—but there's still that doubt, that tugging in the back of her brain when she sees the way Bellamy closes his eyes whenever Clarke embraces him. And even when she was against them, she remembers the way they were always drawn to each other, Clarke falling into Bellamy's arms, Bellamy's hand brushing her back. 

Clarke's dangerous—Clarke has killed. And even so, Echo remembers the way Bellamy used to stand so boldly close to her all the time, two magnets with such a strong pull to each other that they were never quite that far apart.

Echo chances a glance at Bellamy, who's staring wistfully at the shield closing itself.

"She'll be okay," Echo says. "Clarke will be okay."

And despite the way Clarke's life is so interwoven with the life of the man Echo loves, Echo wants her words to be true. Even after a sword to Clarke's throat and fingers around her throat, Echo likes her. At some point, Echo stopped caring for her on behalf of others—she started to care because of her own feelings.

Watching the way Bellamy glances at the spot where Clarke was, Echo's unsure of what the future will be like if Clarke returns. But here, in the light of the two suns that rise steadily higher, Echo truly realizes for the first time that she wants Clarke to _live._

* * *

"So, did you just, like, know which button did what?" Murphy yells over the engine.

"If you keep talking you're going to crash into a tree!" Clarke snaps at him, and Murphy chooses to shut up now.

And then something stings the bit of exposed skin between his glove and the sleeve of his jacket, and he glances down to try and understand what it is. Behind him, he hears Clarke's engine come to an abrupt stop.

"Something wrong?" Murphy asks.

"Did you feel it?" Clarke asks, holding up her own wrists.

Murphy nods, taking off his helmet and tipping his head to the sky. There's a sensation like small needles poking his skin irregularly, like wet needles.

"Shit," Clarke says, hurriedly putting her helmet back on. "Murphy, get on the bike! It's acid!"

"Fucking hell," Murphy mumbles under his breath. _"Shit."_

"Just follow me!" Clarke yells over the steadily pattering rain, getting louder and louder and louder.

* * *

"Get in," you hiss, tugging open a hatch and scrambling down the ladder, Murphy hot on your heels. He yanks the hatch shut, then looks around as you light the kerosene lamp.

"How do you know about this place?" he asks you, settling down on the floor.

"Josephine's memories," you answer shortly, going over to sit down opposite him. "I don't remember anything about acid rain."

"And Gabriel didn't say anything about it, either," Murphy says, picking at the straps of his back. You shrug off your jacket and stare at the strange, small stains all over it from the raindrops.

"I like it," Murphy says, nodding at the stains. "It makes a statement."

"I'm sorry I tried to choke you," you mumble.

Murphy pauses, his hands stilling on his backpack, his eyes far away. "You're not the one who has to apologize."

* * *

There's so much raw truth in his words, but still, he can tell that Clarke feels that urge to take on all the blame by herself.

"Clarke—"

"You helped the enemy," Clarke interrupts. "And even when you found out I was alive, you participated in the effort to kill me. You traded my life for yours, and Emori's. So the two of you could live like them. _Forever." _She scoffs lightly. _"__I _couldn't imagine wanting to be alive forever. Remembering everything forever. But you did. And you sacrificed my existence for it. And still, I want to say it was my fault. Still, I know I have to forgive you."

Her words are bitter, her eyes glued to the ground. "And why? Why do I forgive all of you, again and again? Why do I do it knowing I'll only get anger and resentment in return?"

"Clarke, please—"

"Just let me talk, Murphy," Clarke says tiredly. "To your credit, at least you're listening. Or pretending to, anyway."

He tilts his head, feeling tremendously out of place. Bellamy was probably the only one Clarke ever confessed her feelings to, and Bellamy would know what to say. Or what not to say.

"I'm tired," she whispers. "Every single minute. Every single day. I'm so afraid to close my eyes on my own, because whenever I did, all I saw was _her. _Either that or be trapped in a physical representation of my mind, reliving every bad thing I've ever done..."

"It was like that for us, too," Murphy says before he can stop himself. "Me, at least."

"What do you mean?" she asks, her brows knitting together.

"When she told me you were dead, it just didn't—it didn't really _make sense. _And the thought of you dying is scarier than it seems, because it seems like one of the most unlikely things in the world."

She releases a humorless laugh from her nose, turning away.

"Yeah, I know I took her side. And I regret it," Murphy adds, hoping he can convey his sincerity with his words. "And whenever I looked at your face—it was truly obvious you were gone. And it was terrifying. Her voice was different, her walk was different..."

He trails off, his eyes stinging. "I knew, then. I knew I didn't want you to die. And for the first time in a long time, I regretted—I fucking regretted everything."

"That," Clarke murmurs, "is the sappiest shit I've ever heard you say."

"Sad you didn't get it recorded?" Murphy asks, laughing wetly.

"Murphy?" she asks tentatively. "Are you crying?"

"Yes, I'm crying," he says shortly. "And it's not like you haven't seen it before. The last time was when—when you told me you were proud of me."

"Because I was," Clarke sighs. "I _am."_

Murphy straightens. "Griffin, you have no obligation to forgive me."

"With you, it's not an obligation," Clarke tells him. "I _am _proud of you. And I do forgive you."

He turns his body and lies back so his head is lying a few inches away from Clarke's shins, and her face is upside-down from his perspective. "Are you being serious?"

"I care about you," she says. "And I'm proud of how far you've come."

"But you don't forgive the others," he clarifies. Clarke shifts uncomfortably, glancing away. "I can't just act like nothing happened. With Raven. It's not fair to me," she says.

"Good, because I was gonna deck you if you forgave her."

"Thought the two of you were friends," Clarke mutters.

"We are, but the way she treats you is way out of line," Murphy says firmly.

"Yeah. I guess."

He turns his head so he can glare full-on at her shins. "You still think she's right, don't you?"

"I did betray you."

"For the one person you had left," Murphy sighs. "Up until we came back, you couldn't even be sure we were alive."

Clarke turns her body as well to lie down like him, her head next to his and their legs going in opposite directions. Even after that, all he gets from her is silence, so he pushes on. "Look, Griffin. For a long time, I only really valued myself. But then I found I'd do anything for. I found someone that, believe it or not, I'd _die _for. Someone I would kill for, too. And I know you did, too. So even if the others don't—I understand. And you forgive me, and I forgive you."

He hears her exhale softly. "Thanks, Murphy."

"Anytime, Griffin."

* * *

The rain steadily worsens, so the two of you have no choice but to stay inside. But the time is filled in a way that has you feeling lighter than you have in years.

"Cristiano Ronaldo? That's so _mainstream, _Murphy—"

"Yeah, well _your _favorite is _Messi—"_

"And what about it?" you snap. "Messi's a legend."

"And you don't get to lecture me about being mainstream, Clarke, because your favorite team was _Man U!"_

"And _you _supported Arsenal! Arsenal is so _average—"_

* * *

"It's not getting better, is it?" Bellamy asks, his stomach churning with anxiety.

"It's the first time we've seen rain like that in nearly a century," Gabriel sighs. "And the Anomaly patterns aren't quite right, either."

Gabriel stares at the monitors, not bothering to say any more.

"Bell, Clarke did say she had retained some of Josephine's memories," Octavia says at Bellamy's side, rubbing his back. "We have to trust that Clarke knows something useful, because we don't have the option of going out there to look for her. Not in these conditions."

_Have some faith._

_(she's gonna be okay.)_

* * *

"The rain doesn't seem to be stopping," Murphy mumbles, and you can hear a touch of concern in his voice.

"Well, it has to stop at some point, doesn't it?" you ask, and suddenly the steady sound of the rain stops, and there's absolute silence.

"Please tell me _you _didn't do that," Murphy says weakly.

"Of course not," you mutter. "Stay here."

"Goddamnit, Clarke—"

You climb up the ladder and slowly push the hatch open, and you're greeted by a silent forest, the rain gone.

"Grab our stuff, Murphy," you say. "I think we're ready to move again."

* * *

"Sun looks like it's gonna set soon," Murphy remarks as Clarke puts on her helmet. "How long do you think we were in there?"

"Long enough for me to find out you watched the entire Harry Potter series _twice _on the Ring," Clarke mutters. "Six or seven hours, I think."

"Didn't feel like it," Murphy sighs.

"Yeah, because you were asleep for three hours," Clarke says, almost wistfully.

"Wait, you didn't sleep?" he asks her.

He can't see Clarke's eyes clearly through the helmet, but he can tell that he should drop the subject.

There's a faint rumbling noise, and Murphy's head snaps up.

"What in the name of hell is that?" he asks.

"I think that's it," Clarke whispers, staring at the distant green glow in the trees. "I think—I think that's the Anomaly."

"What do we do, then?"

"Well," Clarke murmurs, swinging her leg over the bike. "That's where we have to go now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her blood is all over his hands, and there's nothing Murphy can do to ease it, nothing he can do to stop it. 
> 
> There was supposed to be more time. She had more time.
> 
> Until she didn't.
> 
> He looks up, temporarily blinded by the light, remembering why he came.
> 
> "I'm sorry, Clarke," he whispers, and he lets his trembling fingers release her body, and he watches her as she falls.


	3. Rage So Profound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke runs into some trouble—and some ghosts from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have a large amount of medical knowledge, so don't point out any inaccuracies. I know, guys. I know. I'm sorry lmao  
also y'all catching my far from home references?
> 
> I HAD A FUCKING MELTDOWN BECAUSE HALF OF THIS GOT DELETED IM GONNA SCREAM

It starts after ten minutes.

He should've noticed it before, honestly—the signs were there, and they were pretty fucking obvious.

It was the irregular swerve of her motorcycle; the way he could hear her shaky breaths even over the roar of the engines; or the way he saw her hands trembling out of the corner of his eye.

But still, Murphy didn't think anything of it until Clarke's bike came to a full stop and she stumbled off of it, yanking her helmet off and spitting out wads of viscous, dark blood.

"Shit, shit, shit," Murphy says under his breath, stopping his bike and running over to Clarke. "God, not now, Clarke, any time but now!"

"I don't exactly control it, jackass!" she wheezes, swaying on the spot. "Oh, _god—"_

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, no, no, no, stay with me, Griffin," Murphy splutters, grabbing her arm and looping it around his shoulders. He can't help but wonder how Octavia felt when she was watching this happen, because it's a truly scary sight. He hasn't really felt panic too many times in his life, but he's feeling it now.

There's horrible, irregularly gasping breaths from Clarke, and Murphy feels like she should be lying down, on her side, or on her back? Shit, he's so fucking underqualified—

"Hey, Clarke," Murphy says gently, staring at the green wall of light just up ahead. "We're gonna walk, okay?"

Clarke doesn't answer—she's dead weight, all of her weight against his body. He feels blood soak into his t-shirt, and he can feel it wet on his skin. God, he's fucking terrified. And Bellamy's gonna fucking kill him if Clarke dies—

_No! She is not gonna die._

"Damn it," Murphy whispers, dragging Clarke along. "Please don't die, Griffin. I would have an absolute meltdown and no one wants that, right?"

_Please don't die. I don't want you to die._

It's excruciatingly and terrifyingly slow, and every gap between her breaths grows longer and longer, and Murphy's heart almost starts every time.

Blood. The smell of metal fills his nostrils, the sensation of it on his skin.

_Days. She was supposed to have days._

If Murphy was being completely honest with himself, he didn't Clarke was going to survive this one. There was too much blood, too much shaking, and it was coming out of her mouth and her nose—

_Stay calm. Stay calm._

He doesn't stop until the light is so bright it makes his eyes hurt, until the Anomaly is just a foot away from them.

"Clarke," he says, pulling her body close and holding it by the shoulders so she's facing him. "Clarke. _Clarke. Clarke?"_

She's not even moving so much anymore. There's just blood, so much blood.

He holds her back up with arm while raising a shaking hand to her neck.

He can feel her pulse weakening, slowing, fading, _dying. _Her blood is all over his hands, and there's nothing Murphy can do to ease it, nothing he can do to stop it.

There was supposed to be more time. She had more time.

Until she didn't.

He looks up, temporarily blinded by the light, remembering why he came.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," he whispers, and he lets his trembling fingers release her body, and he watches her as she falls.

* * *

"And we have those weird bug swarms to worry about, too," Bellamy says, crossing his arms as he faces Gabriel. Echo finds her gaze glued to Bellamy's face, the freckles that are visible again because he had shaved earlier that evening.

_How long will you keep lying to him?_

Even up on the Ring, Echo had always found some way to justify keeping the truth from everyone—but here, now, she can't find a good reason to not tell him the truth.

Except for the fact that it would ruin what she and Bellamy have.

_Maybe that was ruined a long time ago._

She remembers his voice so vividly, the way it broke a little as he asked Madi if Clarke was alive. 

Bellamy promised that nothing would change on the ground, but he was wrong. 

Everything changed with a single mention of Clarke Griffin's name.

Echo had tried sadness. She'd tried bitterness, too, and for a while, it had worked. She had poured her bitterness into the way she was squeezing the life out of Clarke's lungs for taking away the one thing she had left to truly love—she had tried so hard.

But Clarke was too _good _to be bitter towards. Too genuine. Too kind. Too everything that Echo had wanted to be, but couldn't, because of how she'd grown up. Who she'd been forced to become. And she tried to be bitter about that, too. But for once, bitterness and anger failed her, because it was hard to hate someone who was so purely _good._

Either way, Echo still wants to try. Echo still wants to be good, not just for Bellamy, but for herself, too. She wants to be who she wanted to be all along. Good. 

But she can't do that if she isn't honest, right?

_I have a good reason to hide my past._

_(no, you don't.)_

She hates being in doubt. She hates being at war with herself.

_I'll lose him if I tell him who I am._

_(you lost him a long time ago.)_

But Echo wants to be selfish—Echo wants to be childish just a little longer, pretend that she and Bellamy are forever just a little longer.

* * *

"Is it gonna hurt?" Madi asks. She thinks she's had enough hurt for a while.

"All we're gonna do is sedate you, Madi," Gaia says softly. "And then it'll be over."

Madi has vague memories of Dr. Jackson shoving a needle into her arm in a room like this one—vague memories of rage so profound she felt like her whole body would explode.

"Will you be there when I wake up, Seda?" Madi asks quietly.

Gaia brushes her hair from her forehead. "Always."

* * *

Your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dimness. You're in a soft bed, staring at metal walls.

_Shit, are you on the Ark?_

The light is too natural for it to be Ark, though, and there's a pleasant sort of air in the room, a familiar smell.

_Arkadia._

Another person's breathing gets a little louder and you sit straight up in bed, craning your neck until you see a body curled up on the floor, tangled in blankets. The only visible part of the person is a mop of messy curls, and your heart starts to beat a little faster. 

Bellamy groans and turns to lie on his stomach for a few seconds before growling in frustration and sitting up, raising his hands up.

"Why are you on the floor?" you blurt.

"Good morning," he just says, standing up and stretching fully. The action makes his shirt rise an inch, and you sigh and bury your face in your hands.

"Bellamy," you say. "What the hell is going on?"

He yawns. "Huh? Oh. You told me you were gonna gut me if I didn't sleep on the bed, especially in this cold weather, but then you fell asleep and you looked so comfortable that I didn't really wanna bother you with me taking up space on the bed."

"I—cold weather?" you ask.

"It's _winter, _Clarke," Bellamy sighs, putting on his boots before walking over to the bed. "I'd ask if you're hungover but I was with you all of last night and I didn't see you drink anything."

_(winter? what about Praimfaya?)_

"You were with me doing what?" you ask weakly. 

"Going over rationing schedules," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Then he reaches out and touches your forehead. "Are you okay, Clarke?"

"I'm... I'm okay," you say, gingerly getting out of bed. "Jesus, it's cold."

"Here," Bellamy says, handing you your jacket. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine."

He smiles tightly and tugs gently on a lock of hair before turning and leaving the room. You look down at your hair, which is long again.

And Bellamy, with his cleanly shaven face—

You press the palms of your hands into your eyes. _What the fuck is going on?_

The room starts to spin, and you're worried you're having another seizure, but now you're pretty sure that your surroundings dissolving into green smoke isn't a symptom of seizures. Your vision darkens, and when everything clears, you're somewhere else.

You're in a dark room, and you can see Bellamy standing a few feet away with his back to you.

"Bellamy?" you ask softly, walking towards him. "Are—are you okay?"

He turns around, and the look in his eyes is almost unrecognizable, with none of the warmth and familiarity you've come to know. There's a dark sort of rage in his eyes, a stiffness in his posture.

"Come here," he says, holding out his arms, and even his voice doesn't sound right—it's too blank, too low, too cold. But you walk towards him anyway, because it's _Bellamy—_he's not going to hurt you. You step into his embrace and you press your ear against his heartbeat. It's fast, but steady.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, Clarke," he says, and you feel something cold press into your gut. "But I don't need you anymore."

Your body jerks with each resounding gunshot. All you can do is stare at him in horror as your body topples backward.

He doesn't even look at you—he just stares at his gun.

You try to say his name, but the word is replaced by blood bubbling in your mouth.

"W-why?" you ask. 

He kneels next to you, his eyes dark. "You know why."

You start to choke on your own blood. You'll never be able to describe the pain to anyone, the sensation of bullets tearing into your flesh, the sight of Bellamy's enraged face the last thing you see and the sound of your own gasping breaths fading the last thing you hear.

* * *

When you open your eyes again, you're in Sanctum. The sky darkens before your eyes, but it's not necessarily night—the sky is now matte black, and you look down to see a table in front of you. Raven sits a few seats away.

"Maybe if she was good enough, Abby would still be alive."

You stumble backwards, and you trip over something—someone. Looking down, you see your mother lying in a pool of your own blood, and you press your hands to your mouth, stifling a scream. You keep walking backwards until the back of your knees hits the edge of a bed and you fall, surrounded by soft furs, with Lexa's smiling face above yours.

There's a gunshot and you look around frantically until you can no longer feel the weight of Lexa's body on yours. You turn, and you see her lying on the bed, bleeding, dying in front of you.

You turn around and run, desperate to get away from this. You're falling into a white room with a broken glass window, red blood on the jagged edges. Your blood—Mount Weather.

Your body falls into a chair and you see Bellamy with tears in his eyes, feel something cold closing around your wrist. You try to yank your hand free of the handcuffs, but no, you can't escape. 

The handcuffs disappear abruptly and now you're standing in front of Maya Vie, who stares accusingly up at you, her once beautiful face covered in blisters.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I'm so sorry—"

Someone kicks you hard in the back. "You don't _get _to be sorry."

You're in a chair, and you feel Bellamy's hand on your shoulder, your own hand rising instinctively to cover his. But then you glance down at the list on the table in front of you, pages of your neat handwriting and then your name in Bellamy's bold letters.

And then you end up back on the floor. Josephine Lightbourne saunters around you and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Please," you beg, your body shaking with sobs. "Make it stop. Josephine, _please—"_

"Wait," she says, genuine confusion etched into her features. "You want it to stop?"

You pull your knees to your chest and you hug them tight.

"I want this to _end!" _you sob. "Please, I just want it to end, I just want to—"

"What do you want, Clarke?" Josephine whispers.

"To die, to die, _PLEASE!" _you scream. "I want to _die!"_

"We both know that you don't deserve to live," Josephine says softly, but then her lips curve into a small smile. "But you don't get to die."

You raise your head slowly. "What?"

"Surprisingly," Josephine murmurs. "There are worse things than death."

You look past her to see Bellamy and Madi's bodies lying on the ground, red and black blood mixing together.

You scream until your world clears again.

* * *

Your hands are braced against the edge of a table, your lips pressed against Bellamy's.

"I won't leave you," he says in between kisses. "I promise." And this is when you realize that this is a memory of a fantasy—something you'd hoped, dreamed would happen after he wrote your name on the list.

Tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with the thumb of the hand that cups your cheek.

"I love you," he says quietly, pulling away.

"Bellamy..." you murmur, caressing his cheek.

"You don't have to say it back," he says, covering your hand with his own. "I know it's not a good time but I also know that it was never gonna be a good time and I just had to tell you—"

"I love you too," you say quietly. "I'm in love with you, too."

His eyes shine with unshed tears. "Really?"

The teardrops that cling to your lashes fall when you nod. "Of course."

He moves forward to kiss you again, and then it's gone.

You love him so much, but it was too late.

_(it was never gonna be a good time)_

Too late.

You're shoved into the dirt, Bellamy's hands closing around your neck, and you can't breathe, can't scream—

"Go away," you say, burying your face in a pillow.

"Clarke, you were having a nightmare," Bellamy says softly. You raise your head to see him standing at the edge of your bed in Sanctum.

"It was nothing," you mutter.

"You wouldn't be screaming if it was nothing."

"I'm sorry," you sigh. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already awake," Bellamy claims, but the way he keeps rubbing his eyes betrays the fact that he's lying.

"Go back to sleep, Bellamy," you sigh, turning away. You feel his warm hand fall on your shoulder and you try not to flinch, your head filled with images of him staring at his gun as you were dying at his feet.

"Mom. _Mom."_

You open your eyes, and there's a boy in front of you who looks achingly familiar, about thirteen or fourteen years old. He has a mass of curly brown hair, and his face is dotted with freckles. But his eyes are a brilliant blue—exactly your shade. This is your _son._

And the resemblance to someone you know can only mean one thing.

"Mom, are you okay?" the boy asks, and a young woman enters the room. When you realize who it is, your breath catches in your throat.

It's Madi, grown up and so vibrantly beautiful that your heart stops. Her brown hair is long and straight, cascading down her shoulders, and her eyes remind you of the way Earth used to look from the Ark viewing window. Vivid and blue and beautiful.

"What?" you murmur. "I'm... I'm fine."

"You sure, because you kind zoned out there, Ma."

"August, did you do the dishes?" a familiar voice calls from another room. Bellamy walks in, and smiles so radiantly at you that your heart rate speeds up.

"Yeah, I'm sure, August," you say, smiling at your son and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," August mutters, walking away. "I'll do the dishes now."

"Are you serious?" Bellamy and Madi say at the same time. 

"Dude, Bellamy asked you to do them like an _hour _ago," Madi groans.

"It was like, fifteen minutes, jackass!" 

"Hey!" you and Bellamy say at the same time, and he smiles at you again.

"Oh, ew," Madi says, rolling her eyes and walking away. "I'm leaving. Try not to make any more kids while I'm gone."

Madi leaves the room, and Bellamy just shrugs, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

And then it's gone, and you want to cry.

_"It's all just a lie, Clarke," _Josephine sighs, her voice echoing in your head as you stumble in the darkness. _"Look."_

You look up and see all of Spacekru staring impassively at you, and then you feel Josephine's boot colliding with your side.

_"They don't care about you, Clarke," _Josephine says. _"They don't care about liars. Traitors. People who are so useless that they couldn't even save their own parents."_

You scream and scream with every kick and punch, unable to fight back, and they all just stare, doing nothing, feeling nothing.

_"They want you dead, Clarke," _she says. _"But all you can do is try to live with that."_

You sob violently until everything goes silent.

And then you find yourself alone again, a folded piece of paper clutched in your hand.

You hold it up and unfold it, and there's not a lot written on it.

> _You have to go back the way you came._
> 
> _-Lexa_

_The Anomaly. She means the Anomaly._

You lose your balance, so you grab the nearest thing. Thick, metal bars. Your hands are now gloved, and when you look up, you see a rocket rising into the sky.

The radio tower collapses and your body is temporarily weightless.

But when you fall, you can feel every bone in your body shatter.

_Kill me._

When the pain abruptly disappears, you open your eyes and stand, your hands trembling.

"Clarke," a voice says, and you whirl around, finding yourself face to face with Russell Lightbourne, hallowed be his fucking name.

"Now that you're finally here," he says, his voice trembling with barely concealed rage, "we have a lot to discuss."

You do the only logical thing—you run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She'll never recover from this, Gaia," Raven says, tears in her eyes.
> 
> "We can't lie to her about it!" Gaia sobs. "We can't keep something like this from Clarke."
> 
> Raven shakes her head, her vision blurring. 
> 
> "What do I tell her?" Raven asks softly. "How could I tell her that I failed?"


	4. Ringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Murphy return to Sanctum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a filler chapter i guess but oh well enjoy lmao
> 
> so i listened to "Dreaming of the Crash" by Hans Zimmer on repeat while writing the last scene and I suggest y'all do the same

Raven wants to scream.

Gaia stares blankly at the monitors, at the machines connected to Madi.

"What do we tell them?" Gaia asks, tears streaming down her face.

"We can't tell them," Raven says shakily. "We can't—"

"Have you lost your mind?" Gaia gasps, turning around. "What about when Clarke comes back? You suggest we don't tell her either?"

"She'll never recover from this, Gaia," Raven says, tears in her eyes.

"We can't lie to her about it!" Gaia sobs. "We can't keep something like this from Clarke."

Raven shakes her head, her vision blurring.

"What do I tell her?" Raven asks softly. "How could I tell her that I failed?"

"I don't _know, _Raven," Gaia says, letting out a choked sob and stroking Madi's hair. "I didn't know this was going to happen."

"This is all my fucking fault," Raven chokes out, covering her face. "Clarke will never forgive me. Never."

* * *

Your elbow flies into the face of another Sanctum guard, and soon it's just a tangle of limbs as you become a moving weapon.

You glance up to see a trail of green smoke, leading towards Josephine's wing of the castle, and you follow it, knocking down guards as you go.

When you finally make it to her room, you slam the door shut and lock it, leaning against the door and sighing.

"Did you think it was gonna be _that _easy?" your own voice asks, but higher, and definitely more annoying—Josephine.

"You've gotta be kidding me," you sigh.

"Sorry, Clarke. You're not leaving this place alive—"

Your fist collides with her jaw, and Josephine gasps.

"You—talk—too—much," you say, punctuating each word with a punch. You jam your knee into her stomach, making her gasp.

The mirror in the corner of the room fills with green smoke, and you know that's where you need to go. But it's far—and now, Josephine's hand connects with your face and she shoves you off.

"You think too much," Josephine mutters. You kick her hard in the ankle, and she topples over. Your scramble towards the mirror, and with the sound of her yelling echoing in your ears, you fall into the green smoke.

* * *

Her body falls onto his, and Murphy gasps, dragging Clarke away from the Anomaly and shaking her shoulders. "Clarke! Do you have any idea how fucking long I waited here? Hours, Clarke! Hours! You're lucky all the animal life is too afraid to come here! They're fucking smart! Look! The sun's gonna fucking rise soon—"

Murphy notes her lack of response, and glances down at her closed eyes. "Oh, shit," he mutters. "Hey, Clarke? Clarke!"

He shakes her shoulders, but nothing happens. "Oh, god," he murmurs, pressing his fingers to her neck. Her pulse is slowing, weakening, and he's back at square one. And it's not like he even knows how to do CPR or something. 

"Clarke Griffin," he says, grabbing her face. "I'm asking very nicely. I don't do that often. Please wake up. _Please. _I would be very sad if you died. See, if you wake up, I'll let you tell them that." Tears start to sting his eyes. _"Please."_

He shakes her again, harder. "Clarke, please!" His tears are falling freely now, onto her face. "Please, please, please—" Murphy grabs the emergency radio that Gabriel gave them.

"Hi, HI! _THIS IS JOHN MURPHY! WE NEED HELP!"_

Nothing. He should've known. He presses his hand to her heart, trying to find something, anything that proves that she's still alive, that it's not over.

She inhales sharply, and her heart rate rockets up beneath his fingers, and Murphy gasps, dissolving into sobbing laughter.

"Murphy," Clarke says, her face pale but a weak smile on her face. "Am I alive?"

"Yeah, yes, you're alive," Murphy cries, yanking her up and hugging her hard. 

"Do you think it's over?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know," he sighs. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Clarke nods, her chin digging into his shoulder. "I was scared."

"What did you see?" he asks.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Murphy knows not to push Clarke, so he just sighs. "I was scared, too."

"Wow, seriously?"

* * *

Clarke's a little wobbly at first, but she's able to ride the motorcycle on her own without much difficulty.

When they can see Sanctum in the distance, the acid rain starts again, and it starts as a storm.

"Oh, holy _shit!" _Murphy yells. "Clarke, we have to stop!"

"No!" she yells back. "We can make it!"

"Clarke—!"

"Drive as fast as you can!"

He does.

* * *

They hurtle through the shield just as the storm picks up, and Clarke yanks the jacket off, gasping. Murphy does the same, as well as pulling his helmet off and dropping it to the ground.

"Holy _shit," _Murphy mutters. "That was close."

Clarke nods mutely, shivering in her tank top. "Let's go. I'm cold and I don't wanna wear that jacket again."

"Makes sense," Murphy mutters.

As they start the long walk to the castle, Clarke nods at his shirt. "What happened? Whose blood is that?"

"That's your blood," he says softly. 

Clarke pauses. "That bad, huh?"

"It was _bad, _Clarke," Murphy sighs. "I knew you weren't gonna make it through that one."

"The last thing I remembered before I woke up in the Anomaly was being on the bike. And that goddamn headache," Clarke murmurs. 

"You stopped the bike," Murphy recalls. "I had to drag you to the Anomaly. And then I kinda sorta... shoved you into it."

"Didn't you see anything?" Clarke asks suddenly. "Being near it?"

Murphy _did _see something.

"Yeah," he says softly. "It was nice."

Clarke hugs herself as she walks. "You were lucky."

"Griffin," Murphy asks. "Are you okay?"

She smiles tightly. "I'm fine."

"You know, if you need to talk about it—"

"I don't."

Murphy nods to himself, and they lapse into silence.

"I saw Bellamy," Clarke says suddenly. "I saw a lot of things."

"Maybe you could start from the beginning," Murphy says cautiously.

"Arkadia," Clarke sighs. "It was—it was winter. Praimfaya hadn't happened."

"That's nice, isn't it?" Murphy asks.

"Yeah," Clarke murmurs. "Bellamy was there. We had been going over rationing schedules or something..."

As if realizing the tone she'd used to talk about Bellamy, Clarke shakes her head. "But then that faded. And I... I saw him again."

Murphy knows she means Bellamy, but he can't understand why she sounds so scared.

"Clarke?" he asks. "What happened?"

She stops walking and stares at the ground. "He killed me," she says shortly.

"Clarke," Murphy says, touching her shoulder. "Bellamy would never hurt you."

But then he remembers the bruises on her neck he noticed after he'd been resurrected after the eclipse—after all, there were only three of them in that clearing, and Murphy's not the one who could've choked her...

"Anyways," she says shakily. 

"Anyways," Murphy echoes.

"I saw Raven," Clarke murmurs. "And then—my—mom."

Murphy sighs. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way."

Clarke shakes her head. "Me, too."

"What else?" he ventures.

"I saw Lexa," Clarke sighs, and Murphy remembers it all so vividly—Clarke crying, kissing her one last time.

"Do you still love her?"

Clarke shrugs. "I still feel responsible for her death. I don't know. I think I let her go in all ways except for the lasting impression that I'm the reason she died."

"Clarke—"

"Forget it, Murphy," Clarke sighs. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

He falls silent, waiting for Clarke to speak again.

"Bellamy was there again. But then he was gone, and then I saw—I saw Josephine."

Murphy's hands curl into fists at his sides.

"She's still a bitch," Clarke says with a weak laugh.

"Thought so," Murphy murmurs.

"I punched her like, five times, though," Clarke murmurs. 

"Good," Murphy. "Was there anything else?"

"Oh, you know," Clarke says, rubbing the back of her neck. "Praimfaya. That's—that's about it."

"Is it really?" he asks softly.

Clarke glances around, as if she's expecting someone to eavesdrop. "I saw my kids."

"You saw _what?" _he yelps.

"Murphy!" Clarke sighs. "It's—they probably won't ever exist. And I saw Madi all grown up, too."

"Back to the kids," Murphy says. "Do you—do you know whose they were? I mean, other than you?"

"Are you asking me who the other parent is?" Clarke asks, whirling around to face him.

"Uh, yeah," Murphy says.

"Murphy," she says, a dark blush tinging her cheeks. It's kind of an odd sight, to have faint dark patches on her cheeks, since her blood itself is black. "Who do you think it was?"

He tilts his chin up. "Oh. _Oh."_

She nods and turns away.

"I'm really sorry, Clarke," Murphy says softly.

"It's okay," she says. "At least I'm used to it by now."

She smiles tightly back at him. "And, you know, as long as he's happy, it's okay."

"What about your happiness?" Murphy asks. Clarke gets an odd look on her face, lowering her eyes and turning away. It only then occurs to Murphy that maybe not a lot of people have ever even asked her that.

It's a saddening thought.

They climb up the last of the stairs, emerging into Sanctum as the first sun rises.

* * *

You're not entirely sure why you chose to tell Murphy everything, and though it didn't help a whole lot, you figure it's better than keeping it all to yourself.

But Murphy knows the truth now—Murphy knows the truth even you yourself didn't want to accept.

_You love Bellamy._

_("you care about him.")_

_("now you care about Bellamy?" "I always cared.")_

_("you worry about him more.")_

And then you see him, framed in brilliant gold.

* * *

Echo watches them stand there in the morning light, wrapped around each other. It's like two pillars of gold, with Bellamy's hair a darker shade, like fiery gold, and Clarke's hair like the golden light of the suns. 

She tries to pretend she doesn't notice the look in Bellamy's eyes when he first sees her, and she can almost ignore the love in his eyes.

Almost.

* * *

You walk over to him slowly.

_(he's not going to hurt you.)_

But you can't forget it.

Either way, your body is drawn to his, and your hand rises to touch his face. He looks like _your _Bellamy now, the Bellamy you knew best, with his facial hair gone.

"Hi," he says, and you retract your hand, staring at the ground. 

"Hey," you answer. "I always kinda hated that beard, anyway."

"Ouch," he says softly, smiling down at you. "How'd it go?"

_("why?" "you know why.")_

_(he's not going to hurt you.)_

"It went well," you lie. "I think—I think I'm gonna be okay."

He holds out his arms. "Come here."

Your hands tremble.

_(he's not going to hurt you.)_

_("you know why.")_

You hug him tightly, trying your best not to cry, or to tell him what you saw, or to run away.

But the way he so gently cradles the back of your head is some assurance that he won't hurt you—some assurance that he is your Bellamy, not that person she had seen in the Anomaly.

"I was so worried," he says into your hair. "I thought we were gonna lose you again."

_We. Not I._

"I'm staying this time," you assure him, swallowing. "I promise."

He pulls back, looking much more at ease than he did when you left, his face illuminated beautifully by the sunrise.

"So, I was going to go and see Madi," you say, just for the sake of saying something.

"She's still in the medical wing of the castle," Bellamy says, nodding towards it. "Want me to take you?"

You're just about to say yes when you see Raven limping towards you. There's a pained expression on her face, but you know it's because she had to come and see you.

"Raven," you begin when she stops just ten feet away. "Where's Madi?"

In front of your eyes, her face contorts, her bottom lip trembling and her eyes narrowing as tears start to stream down her face. There's a steady ringing in your ears, getting louder and louder. "Raven?"

She lets out a sob, and that's the only answer you need.

You feel your knees hit the ground, your hands falling flat on the ground to support yourself. The ringing is so loud, like a speaker next to your ear. Maybe it's Echo's hand on your back, or Bellamy's, or Murphy's.

You don't know. You don't care.

"I'm sorry," you hear Raven sob through the ringing. "I'm so sorry, Clarke, I tried, I tried to do everything I could—"

It gets louder and louder and louder

and louder

and louder

until all there is

is just

a steady

ringing

noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's real to me," Murphy whispers. "It always has been. And I want it to last as long as I'm alive."
> 
> "That won't be forever," Emori murmurs. "If that's what you want, it's not what you're gonna get."
> 
> "All I want is you, Emori," he implores. "And I want us to last this time."


	5. The Woman Who Commanded Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke can't adjust to her new reality. The others worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i took so long with this one, school started recently and i've been hella stressed

"Clarke, if you don't say anything, I'm coming in."

You maintain your silence, staring blankly out the window. The door opens, and Echo stands in the doorway, holding a plate of something that you can't really smell.

"I'm not hungry," you say. Your voice is rough from disuse.

"You haven't eaten in two days. All you do is drink water, shower, and stare at nothing."

You don't answer her. You don't know how.

Echo joins you on the bed, setting the plate down on the floor. "Clarke, you can't stay in here forever."

"I shouldn't have left," you say.

"You would've died if you haven't."

"Is that such a bad thing?" you ask softly.

"Clarke," Echo says quietly, touching your shoulder. "Don't say that. Everyone's worried sick about you. You haven't even spoken to Bellamy or Murphy."

"I don't want to talk to anyone," you say quietly, hoping Echo will get the message.

"You're gonna have to at some point."

"Why are you doing this?" you ask quietly. "Why are you pretending to give a shit?"

Echo falls silent for some time before angling her body towards you. "You know, I've been hearing stories of you for years."

This gives you pause.

"After Mount Weather, I heard stories of the warrior from the sky—the woman who commanded death. The girl who slew the Mountain."

Your gut tightens with each proclamation, but you don't interrupt her. 

"All I could hear were stories of you. Clarke Griffin. And I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate you for the destruction your people brought to our world, and then I wanted to hate you for how close you were to him."

_Him—Bellamy._

"But then on the Ring, I heard different stories," she says softly. "Stories of how good you were at drinking games and stories of how you knew every braid and about twenty different hairstyles. Stories of how you used a wet cloth to clean the face of your father's watch."

"Did Bellamy tell you all of this?" you ask.

"For the most part, no," Echo admits. "The others told me stories about you mostly when he wasn't around. I suppose it was just too much for him."

You swallow and look down.

"They told me about how they could hear you swearing at Bellamy from the other end of the dropship camp," Echo says with a small laugh. "How you used to sing to the younger kids while you treated their injuries. Harper and Raven heard you singing quietly in camp once—they never told anyone before, but they loved your voice. And Emori told me about you gave yourself nightblood to protect her.

"You know, you started to seem less like a myth and more like a person—a person who lived just like all of us. And even though I thought I'd known at the time that you gave your life so we could live, I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate you for how real you sounded, and how Bellamy never forgot you, not even in his happiest moments on the Ring. I wanted to hate you for the fact that you did so much for everyone, and you did it all without question.

"And then there was Madi, telling us you were alive. Now, Bellamy promised nothing would change on the ground, but I could see it in his face. And I just—I wanted to hate it.

"But then I saw the way you protected Madi, and though your love for her pushed you to make decisions we didn't like, you still made the right call in the end. You were still the woman I'd spent years hearing about. And everything you did, everything you do, I saw everyone taking it for granted, and for the first time, I knew how it felt."

Echo laughs softly. "Being the so-called 'top spy' in Azgeda wasn't like anything anyone could've assumed. And I did everything for my people, and still it was never enough. Roan and Bellamy were the only ones who ever understood that I tried. That I gave everything I had for people who didn't even care. And I saw that it was the same for you, too. And I just—I couldn't hate you anymore. I mean, I don't think I ever succeeded. And either way, I always respected you, even in the beginning.

"I think for a while I only cared on Bellamy's behalf, but in a matter of days, I started to care about you, too. Myself. From my own heart. Because you'd just done so much for us, for me, that there's no way I couldn't care. And it wasn't really a debt I owed, either. You owed me nothing. I tried to kill you. And still, I knew you would protect me. And though the others didn't care about that, I wanted you to know I'd do the same.

"And when you died—god. Bellamy didn't take it well at all. But I just—I was angry. And I wanted to go to _war, _Clarke. I wanted them to burn almost as much as Bellamy did. Because they had no right to take you. Because you deserved more.

"I don't know if you can tell but this is—this is a lot," Echo says, laughing weakly. "This is the sappiest I've ever been in my life."

"That's okay," you mumble, holding back tears.

Echo reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder. "I like you. I consider you a friend. And I want you to consider me in that same light.

"And, the ground left scars on all of us. The thing is, those six years stuck in a tin can, those six years with people who became my closest friends helped me heal from some of the injuries of my past. But you never got that—and I want you to have that, too. You've been through more than a lot of us, and I want you to heal. And I want to be there, too. Even though this seems really sudden from my end, I want you to be okay. I want you to be happy."

When you open your mouth to speak, the only thing that comes out is a choked sob, and Echo lets your head fall onto her shoulder, her arm encircling your back as you start to cry for the first time in a very long time. 

It's a little like a dam bursting—the deaths of your mother and Madi and all the pain you've endured rising and starting to swirl, growing into a raging storm. Emotions so intense that you feel like your very being is going to explode.

You don't know where you're going to go from here. You don't know what you have left.

But with Echo's arms around you, holding you as you cry, it's almost enough for now. 

Almost.

* * *

"I'm worried," Murphy sighs, hugging his knees to his chest. "I'm so damn worried."

"Me, too," Emori says softly, rubbing her eyes.

"You should sleep," Murphy says quietly. "You look tired."

Emori scoots closer to him and puts her head on his shoulder. "I don't know if I can."

"It's all been—so much," Murphy whispers. 

"And I can't even imagine what it's like for Clarke," Emori murmurs into his shoulder.

"Echo's with her," Murphy says quietly.

"Kind of odd, considering everything they have in common."

Murphy knows Emori's talking about Bellamy.

"I wish we were better friends to her," Emori says quietly. "I wish we were better."

"We're getting there."

"I want her to be okay."

"Me, too."

"And it pisses me off so much that we were shitty enough for her to automatically assume that we don't feel that way," Emori sighs. "And now she thinks she's alone. And if we were better people, then maybe it wouldn't be so hard on her—"

"Emori, we can't hang onto the mistakes we made in the past," Murphy says.

"That's easy for you to say," Emori says, sitting up. "You've never been one for regret."

"But I regretted this," Murphy whispers. "And Clarke's going through hell and even though she's forgiven me I still feel guilty."

Emori returns to her original position, burying her nose in his neck. "Me, too."

They sit in silence for a while before Emori speaks up again.

"John," she begins, "when you were at the Anomaly, did you see anything?"

Murphy contemplates the question for some time before answering truthfully. "Yeah."

"What did you see?" she asks.

"I saw you," he says simply. "Us. Happy and together. The way I knew I wanted it to be."

A light blush stains her cheeks. "Gabriel said the Anomaly showed us either our greatest regrets or our deepest desires."

"Yeah, you were definitely my greatest regret."

Emori laughs, a quick joyous sound, her palm connecting lightly with his chest. "Seriously?"

"Of course not," Murphy says, his tone turning serious, and Emori's smile fades. "I love you."

"Do you know if that love is real?" she asks quietly. 

"It's real to me," Murphy whispers. "It always has been. And I want it to last as long as I'm alive."

"That won't be forever," Emori murmurs. "If that's what you want, it's not what you're gonna get."

"All I want is you, Emori," he implores. "And I want us to last this time."

Emori laughs softly. "Are you proposing again?"

"Yeah," Murphy mumbles, his face feeling hot. "Yeah, I am. Sorry, I don't have a ring."

"Or a mind drive," Emori says, smiling faintly.

"Ugh, as _if!" _Murphy exclaims, and Emori bursts into laughter.

"I hated that movie," Emori says, laughing.

"Seriously? How could you?"

"Cher was kind of annoying."

"Ugh," Murphy murmurs, leaning closer to her. 

"As if," Emori finishes, pulling him in for a kiss.

"Is that a yes?" he asks.

"Duh."

_"Emori. _I can't tell our kids you accepted my proposal with 'duh.'"

"Kids?" she asks, her eyes widening.

Murphy just smiles, kissing her again, and again, chasing that small bit of happiness in a darkening horizon.

* * *

"What happens now, Gabe?" Octavia asks softly.

Gabriel's not accustomed to the nickname—he hadn't heard it used on him in almost two hundred years, but when he heard it roll off of Octavia's tongue a few days ago, he had no desire to stop her.

"I don't know," he admits, powering down the machines. 

"I can't believe Raven didn't tell us," Octavia breathes, pressing her hands to her eyes. 

"The war never ends for a lot of people," Gabriel sighs. "I'm sure she had her reasons. And I guess Clarke deserved to find out first."

Octavia huffs and leans against the table, and he finds himself just trying to read her, her expression, her body language.

When he first met the woman, he couldn't help but remember Josephine, just a little bit. Before she had gotten the wrong idea.

But as time went on, Gabriel realized Octavia was nothing like Josephine.

_Better, _a small, nagging voice at the back of his mind says, but he chooses not to read too much into that.

There's a beautiful strength in Octavia. There's resilience that made him admire her immediately. And she didn't need a connection to the Anomaly to be interesting.

_Are her eyes green or blue?_

_(for god's sake, Gabriel, you're not a teenager anymore.)_

"Hello? Anyone home?" Octavia asks, and Gabriel snaps back to attention.

"Did you say something?" he replies.

"Nothing important," she murmurs, staring at the dark screens now, as if she's looking for some secret message.

"So?" Gabriel inquires. "You don't have to talk to me only when you have something important to say." _I want you to talk to me._

She looks a little surprised by that but recovers quickly. "Your talk about the war never ending for some people."

Octavia looks him straight in the eyes now.

_(green.)_

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

Gabriel sighs. "Being alive forever isn't as fun as it sounds. It's like a perpetual all-nighter."

"And you just want to go to sleep," Octavia murmurs, closing her eyes and sitting on a desk.

"Do you?" he asks. "Want to sleep, I mean."

"I don't know," she admits. "God, just—I was ready to die. I was ready and I wanted to. But now, I don't know. I want things to be okay. And I realized that's a different idea than the one I first had."

"Well, if there's still any question about it," Gabriel says briskly, "live. More people want that than you think."

He keeps the memory of her smile at the front of his mind as he walks out into the cold afternoon.

* * *

You slowly push the door open, trying not to close your eyes.

From here, she looks asleep. But then you see all the machines hooked up to her body, all the machines breathing for her. 

She's alive, but not.

Gaia stands by her bed, stroking Madi's hair and singing softly in Trig.

You can't bring yourself to walk closer—to see her alive, her chest rising and falling, while knowing she'll never wake up again. You can't go closer to her, knowing that you'll see one monitor or another that broadcasts the glaring truth; that there's no brain activity, that the only thing keeping your daughter alive is a series of wires and machines.

There were bear traps and braids and a thousand stories and now there is absolutely nothing.

_Brain dead._

You remember Mom trying to explain it to you when you were younger. Eight or nine, maybe.

You remember hoping that it would never happen to anyone you love, because even back then you couldn't bear the thought of seeing them alive while knowing they were not.

_Brain dead._

She should wake up now. She should wake up and pull her hair out of her mouth and say good morning and swear fluently in Trig when she inevitably trips over something, because Madi's never very graceful in the mornings.

_Brain dead._

You can't even ask what happened—you can't even find the need to know what happened, what the exact thing or moment was that took her away.

"Clarke," Raven says, but her voice is very distant, as if you're hearing it underwater or from the far end of a long tunnel. "I know this is hard—"

"—do you—"

"—know she's still breathing—"

"Sheidheda's code is gone, I think—"

"—can't keep her like this forever—"

"—take her off of life support?"

You pause, and you can't breathe, can't see, almost stumbling as you walk out of the room, ignoring the way Raven calls for you, ignoring everything, everyone.

Your vision is blurring and you experience a different sort of dizziness, not the seizures but the world spinning the way it does when you longer want it to. Your senses are rocketing into overdrive, everything too bright, too loud, the constant ringing rising, a perpetual crescendo as you run down the stairs from the top of Sanctum.

Too loud, too bright, too much, and nothing at all.

You want to be dead. You want to die.

You want to be gone, erased from everything. You want your existence to suddenly disappear, because it just doesn't matter anymore. It's words and memories and drawings on a cell wall. And none of it means anything anymore.

But you're back at square one—and you have nothing to do. You have no plan, no purpose, no endgame. All you are is flesh and blood and a brain stumbling and tripping down the stairs, praying that you fall and you never wake up again.

Too loud, too bright, too much, and nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who will you love now? Who will love you?
> 
> You scoff lightly to yourself. Solitude isn't a foreign concept to you.
> 
> Solitude has always been the only choice—regardless of oxymorons and soft smiles and lips that breathed life back into your lungs.
> 
> Out of options, out of time.


	6. The Tower Collapses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo shares a dark secret. Clarke comes to an irreversible conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter kinda flopped ouch  
this chapter is! all! about! feelings!  
yes i know the fic is mostly about feelings but this chapter is feelings on steroids  
whoops

John Murphy would come into the world with rage in his small body. He would grow too big for the small box that the world caged him in, and he'd keep growing. 

He'd watch the love others have for him dwindle, or be cut off abruptly by the unforgiving blackness of space, a button pushed, a body floated.

He'll realize that the human body can run on spite and hate for far longer than others say it can. He'll know this, he'll know this well.

Guilt will never come to him. Fear will be afraid of him.

John Murphy will be infinite.

* * *

Except, he's really not.

Walking to Clarke's room is a far more daunting task than it seems, even with Emori walking beside him. But he's fallen into the habit of letting his emotions get the best of him, and he couldn't possibly just sit around waiting for Clarke to come back down to earth. Or Sanctum, or whatever.

"What now?" he asks softly, staring at her door.

"Now you knock," Emori replies.

Three sharp taps against the door.

"Go away," Clarke's muffled voice says from the other side. "I already ate."

Murphy takes this as an opportunity to open the door, revealing Clarke sitting by the window, her eyes glazed over.

"Or not," she mumbles, so softly that Murphy can barely hear. But he walks to her anyway, kneeling in front of the chair she sits in.

"You know, you don't have to talk about it or anything," he tells her. Clarke isn't looking at him, but Murphy knows she's listening. "You don't have to talk. But if you want to—if you need to, you can talk to me."

Hate is fleeting. Love is infinite.

"Always," he adds. "You can always talk to me."

"And me," Emori murmurs, stepping forward and pushing a strand of hair away from Clarke's forehead. "Any time, Clarke. If you need me, I'll be there."

Murphy tentatively reaches out and places his hand on her arm. _I love you._

After a moment, Clarke's palm lands on top of his hand.

_I love you, too._

John Murphy is infinite.

* * *

Echo's hands are trembling as she walks up the stairs. She can't remember the last time she's been this nervous—maybe the first time Bellamy kissed her on the Ring, maybe when she looked upon the real Echo, her eyes filled with murder, too much murder for a child's eyes.

But Echo's also afraid that if she doesn't tell someone, she'll explode. She hates the instability, the uncertainty, the paranoia, everything that burst to life when Ryker quite literally took her secret to the grave.

_You could always tell Bellamy, _a nagging voice in her mind says, but she knows it's futile.

Bellamy's thoughts are often somewhere else these days—about someone else.

The person Echo chooses to tell is an odd choice, given the circumstances.

She unceremoniously pushes Clarke's door open. She's sitting at the window again, but her head turns sharply at the sound of the door hitting the wall.

"There's something I need to tell you," Echo says.

"What is it?" Clarke asks. Her voice is slightly raspy from disuse, but Echo's glad to hear it.

"I've been lying," she murmurs feverishly, shoving the door closed and locking it. "I've been lying for decades and I can't stand it anymore."

"Echo," Clarke says carefully, slowly getting up. "What's this about?"

"My name isn't Echo," she replies.

It takes Clarke a moment to process the words, and even so she doesn't seem to have been able to comprehend it. "What?"

"My name—isn't—Echo," Echo repeats haltingly.

"Well, what is it, then?" Clarke asks after a moment.

"Ash," Echo replies. "My name is Ash."

"Can you start from the beginning... Ash?" Clarke asks, looking paler than ever.

"One thing," Echo sighs. "Please don't ever call me that."

"I don't want to sound insensitive but is this a story about how you hated your name so much that you changed it in secret?"

Echo blinks. "You made a joke."

Clarke steps forward. "Echo, please. You're scaring me. Tell me what's going on."

Echo gestures at the bed. "You might want to sit down."

* * *

Echo kom Azgeda was my best friend.

I saw her practicing with her bow once when I was eight. It was cold, and it was a few months after my parents—after they were killed. After Nia said she wanted me to train as a warrior. And I wanted to be just like her. She looked so perfect, so concentrated. It was amazing.

She found me in an Azgeda training facility trying to use a bow. And I was terrible at it. You know, back then, she wasn't that great at stealth. I heard her knock over a rack of arrows and I turned and I saw her watching me. We didn't speak about it—we didn't talk at all.

I don't know, maybe a year later, Echo came back to the training facility. I'd long since given up on archery, so I was practicing with knives. That was something I could understand, something I was good at.

She saw me practicing and she came to talk to me. Ha, I was so startled I almost—I almost killed her then. But she was fast. And all she did was smile at me. 

Echo looked me dead in the eyes and said, "If you teach me how to use a knife, I'll teach you how to use a bow." She talked in perfect English, and I knew she was training to be a warrior as well.

I remember that that was the first time I smiled in a long time. My parents were gone, and so far, Echo was the only one who didn't look at me in pity or disappointment.

And we both hated Nia—we'd spend hours and hours coming up with new insults for our _beloved _queen. And she was so funny, she'd always come up with the things that would make me laugh so hard my face and my stomach started to hurt. I hadn't had a lot of friends before Echo, but I knew she was setting the bar really high. Because even though she'd laugh every time my aim went awry, she'd help me and she'd cheer for me when I'd try again.

I loved her like a sister—I loved her so much, and even though she couldn't fill the hole the deaths of my parents left behind, she set me on the path towards being happy again. 

Nia told us to train together—said we had a lot to learn from each other. It was true, but I remember we spent the whole afternoon after that announcement just making fun of each other. 

_("Ugh, I hope it's not your _style, _Echo, because that's awful—"_

_"Shut up, Ash, you'd shoot yourself if someone didn't position the arrow the right way for you!")_

And in the woods a while later—she was helping me with archery.

"Imagine it's Queen Nia's face on the target," she said to me, laughing. And the next thing I knew, Nia was there, on her horse, with her guards. 

I saw a prisoner—I could just tell by his condition, and I remembered being afraid, thinking if she was going to do that to us for making fun of her.

But then Nia was asking Echo to shoot the prisoner, and I saw her get scared, too.

You see, Echo was training to be a spy—and we both knew she'd have to kill someone at some point.

Echo couldn't kill the prisoner. Nia released him and he ran through the woods, but Echo hesitated. I remembered watching Nia shoot him.

_Hesitation is death, _she said.

And then she asked my best friend to kill me.

I remember her cutting me, softly asking me to fight back so Nia wouldn't hear. She didn't want me to die. But Nia was getting impatient, and Echo was running out of options.

So she raised the knife to kill me, and I panicked and I remembered that there was an arrow near my hand and—

("Echo," Clarke says softly. "Do you need to stop?")

No. I don't need to stop. I just—

I felt it go through her skin. I felt her just stop moving above me and I remember the look in her eyes.

It wasn't sadness or anger or even fear. Just disbelief, and that made it a thousand times worse, because I don't think she ever imagined that I'd ever hurt her. And I didn't either.

And her mouth just fell open, and her blood started to spill onto my face, and I wanted to scream but I knew that if I opened my mouth her blood would go into it.

They told me Sangedakru would be expecting a young girl named Echo. I think Nia thought Echo would kill me.

So I had to be her. 

Nia had taken my family, my best friend. And then she took my name. And I never said anything. I had nightmares about it for years. I still do. I still wake up thinking her blood will be on my lips again.

But I said nothing.

I said nothing.

* * *

You're alarmed to see the tears in her eyes when she finishes.

But you understand—you understand the pressure of having to pretend to be someone you're not. Not to Echo's extent, but you understand.

You can almost feel it again—the way your heart raced whenever someone called you Wanheda, whenever anyone looked into your eyes when there was a choice to be made.

_How could I know? _you wanted to ask them. _How could I possibly know everything?_

It was like dancing in a minefield, and it breaks your heart to realize that Echo's known the routine for the majority of her life.

The pain. The fear. The rage.

Something dawns on you then, and you suddenly feel the air leave your lungs, the wind knocked out of you by the magnitude of this realization.

"Bellamy doesn't know," you say slowly, your hand stilling in its routine of rubbing circles on Echo's shoulder.

"No, he doesn't," Echo says, knitting her fingers together. "God, how could I tell him? How could I tell him that I've lied to him this whole time and still hope for a positive outcome?"

You pause, suddenly trying to blink back tears.

It's cruel. The universe has brought you to your knees, and has turned your life into an absolute fucking joke.

But you've been here before.

* * *

You remember when you saw Bellamy and Echo kiss in the desert. You saw the way their bodies collided, the way yours once did with him on so many occasions. 

You remember seeing Echo smile at him, and you know that was the exact moment something in you just snapped.

Hope, maybe.

All you could think of is the whispers of Bellamy Blake and Gina Martin, wishing you could've been there to see him that happy. Hearing how the Azgeda spy was the reason for Gina Martin's death.

All you could feel was the icy blade of Echo's sword kissing your neck, staring at Bellamy, his eyes fierce and angry and beautiful as he ordered her to let you go.

You had remembered the way she had looked the day of Praimfaya, barely healed radiation burns framing her face, an eternal sorrow in her eyes.

You'd disliked her less, then.

But seeing her lips on Bellamy's, you remembered hate exploding in your head, blurring your vision, making your hands shake. It hadn't been the slow, sickening realization when you'd seen Raven fall to Earth and kiss Finn—this had been jealousy, hot and angry.

_"Now you care about Bellamy?" _Echo had asked you, and you wanted to scream, _I cared about him longer, I cared about him more than you ever will—_

But Bellamy loved her. Bellamy loved her and because you loved Bellamy you had to promise yourself that you'd try and save her too if the time ever came.

And he had always been a good judge of character—and in Sanctum, even before that, you found that jealously start to fade, maybe recede into a bleak sort of acceptance, but your resentment towards the woman was gone.

She understood you. And she didn't punish you for doing what you thought was best.

She cared about you. She wanted you to live. And she would've gone to war for _you._

Her friend.

And she's your friend, too. Somewhere along the line of swords and tears and arms clutching you tightly as you shattered, you became friends.

And this is why you know you will help her.

Echo deserves to be loved after all the world has put her through. The same goes for Bellamy.

These two unstoppable forces.

Bellamy had taught her what it was like to love. To trust. To heal. And Echo deserves that. She does.

Perhaps it was going to be Bellamy and Echo all along.

_Let go. Let go of him._

You recall his voice, shaking yet constant, echoing in your mind.

_I need you._

You remember August and Madi, and Bellamy's smile. August, who will never exist, Madi, who will never reach that age.

"I think you should tell him the truth as soon as possible," you murmur.

Echo blanches. "Are you kidding?"

"Echo," you say softly. "Bellamy loves you."

_You. Not me._

"And he's forgiving," you continue. "He's kind and he's forgiving and he loves you."

"It took him three years to even have a civilized conversation with me on the Ring," she sighs.

"That's because he didn't know you," you implore softly.

"He still doesn't!" Echo hisses, a touch of despair in her voice.

"Yes, he does," you say. "This personality, that you have? It's _yours. _Not your friend's. _Yours. _And Bellamy knows it."

Your voice softens. "He probably knows your favorite color and what time of the day you like best. He knows the position you sleep in and your favorite things and your daily routine. Your favorite food back on Earth. Your favorite place on Earth."

_He knows everything about you that we used to know about each other._

"Bellamy knows who you are as a person," you breathe, trying to fight past the pressure building in your chest. "And he loves you for it. You're his home and he's yours."

_Like I was his and he was mine._

"And even after you tell him the truth, he'll love you."

"Why do you think that?" Echo asks softly.

"Bellamy has always been able to love more beautifully than any of us," you whisper. You know you're toeing the line here, coming dangerously close to making a confession you shouldn't. "His heart is bigger than ours. It always has been and it always will be."

And this is, perhaps, you writing your own death sentence, but maybe it's not the end.

The tightness in your chest and the lump in your throat and the tears in your eyes would eventually go away, maybe. 

As long as both of them are happy, maybe you could live with their perfect inevitability of forever.

* * *

On the Ground, you never really underestimated your importance. Sure, the position made you afraid and uncertain at times, but you knew. 

You knew everyone would be looking to you. You knew that the outsiders would take one look at you and just know you were the leader.

The society that the fragmented pieces of humanity formed on Earth was an elaborate, multilayered puzzle. The removal of one piece could mean a collapse of the whole fragile system.

You were a piece of that puzzle.

You had never really been much more than that.

The idea of your death meant a lot of things a lot of different times to a lot of different people. 

Once, a way for people to gain your seemingly endless power.

A way for you to be _out _of the way.

A way for others to survive.

A way to bring back the dead.

But each and every death in your life, both yours and the deaths of others, has started so many wars. Some on the outside, some on the inside.

It's imperative that you survive, and you're not trying to be vain, here. 

You're less than pleased with that.

But dying, ceasing to live, to exist, would be like a wrecking ball colliding with the puzzle.

For now, you have to live. Even if you hope you die somehow, soon, you have to live right now.

This puzzle cannot be broken. You cannot be replaced.

But that doesn't necessarily make you valuable; it just means that your death would be too much of an inconvenience.

You are not important, but at the same time, you are necessary. You die, and the fabric of everything is torn apart again.

You're a placeholder stuck in the most inconvenient location.

When you were younger, you and Wells played a game called Jenga. You'd build a tower out of wooden blocks, and carefully take the blocks out to make it higher and higher. You always wanted to take blocks from the middle to support the tower best, but Wells used to take blocks from the sides, so the entire upper half would be supported by just one thin piece of wood.

You hated it—you also knew he did it just to annoy you.

And you realize that you are that block—stuck, irritatingly so. You're removed, and the tower collapses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You could've told me," Bellamy says softly. "You could've told me at any moment on the Ring."
> 
> "It wasn't just that simple, Bellamy," Echo says softly. "It's not."


	7. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo and Bellamy settle things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter because im tired. School makes me want to commit 'go outside during Praimfaya'

Echo kom Azgeda has always been a liar.

She lied her way into her dangerous reputation. She lied about her name, everything that mattered to her and everything that she was.

Lying comes easy to her.

_Nobody ever wants to hear the truth, _Nia had said to her in her youth. She might've been ten or eleven, she can't remember. _But lying—now that, you can string a bunch of words together and bend everyone to your will._

_With words? _Echo had asked.

_People are weaker than you think, _Nia said, her eyes glinting. Echo remembered wondering if she was thinking about the real Echo. The one she killed.

Dishonesty is easy—it's a thousand times easier than telling the truth.

And when she was raising her bow to send the odds spiraling into Roan's favor during the conclave, she didn't think twice. Not exactly lying, but a form of it.

She didn't regret—up until Roan banished her.

Echo remembered hating herself and hating him and hating Nia. It just wasn't fair—she grew up in a way that portrayed lying as the solution, not the problem. It wasn't fair, that she was punished for the way she grew up.

And then on the Ring, she found lying start to become a little harder.

See, there were only two true things in Echo's life—her thoughts, and her aim. But surrounded by the broken girl with a brace and the hardened woman with the face tattoo and a towering personality, the kind boy who could grow anything and the rebel who didn't give a damn about anyone but his love, the kind woman who could fight a thousand armies a day and smile brighter than the sun, and the fierce man shattered by the loss of his other half, Echo found it harder to not say what she felt.

It was easy, at some point. It was home. 

And then there was Bellamy.

He was so honest, so good, and it didn't make her angry. 

Bellamy kept his promises—Bellamy had never lied to her.

And Bellamy had shown her that love was real. Love was true.

But then Clarke was back.

Echo started to lie again—not to others, but to herself.

_He loves me. He loves me._

It played on a loop in her head, over and over, because she was terrified of the alternative.

_He loves me. He _must _love me._

Echo just couldn't stand the thought that the conclusion she endured so much pain to realize would just crumble just because Wanheda lived up to her name.

_I can be loved. I want to be loved. And he loves me. He loves _me.

It was a childish sort of desperation, silent prayers.

But Echo's not a fool. And eventually, she knew it was time to let go. Subconsciously, at least. Maybe it was when she didn't feel the fireworks in her brain when Bellamy kissed her on the night of the Naming Day party. Maybe when it didn't sting as much to see Bellamy and Clarke together.

_He loves me._

As Echo leaves Clarke's room, she makes a vow.

She vows to have nothing but the truth.

The truth? Bellamy _does _love her.

The truth? Bellamy loves Clarke, too.

He loves her _more._

And the final truth? 

Echo's finally okay with that.

_Because he still loves me._

_Because I'm family._

* * *

Bellamy glares at the sunset, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He opens his mouth to speak several times, but nothing comes out.

But Echo can slowly watch the gut-punch stop aching, the crease between his brow fading.

"You could've told me," Bellamy says softly. "You could've told me at any moment on the Ring."

"It wasn't just that simple, Bellamy," Echo says softly. "It's not."

"What about that isn't simple?" he asks in disbelief. "You know I'm not one to judge someone because of their past... not usually, anyway."

"Bellamy—"

"You know I love you, right?"

His voice is just slightly strained, and Echo knows they're playing a game that they both know they're losing.

"No," she murmurs. "Not the way you used to."

He winces visibly, turning away from her, his hair turning a burnt golden shade in the light of the suns sinking below the distant horizon.

"Bellamy, it's _okay," _Echo murmurs, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away.

"Nothing about this is just _okay," _Bellamy chokes out, his eyes shining. "Neither of us deserve this. I didn't deserve to be lied to like that. You didn't deserve to be..."

He trails off, evidently unable to find the words.

"We all think we deserve nothing," Echo sighs, turning away and walking towards the sun. "We try to count on our fingers the number of people we killed and we find that we need a lot more to get all of that done. The people you've killed. The people I've killed."

She pauses, suddenly needing a moment to just _breathe._

"But Bellamy," she continues after a moment. "You proved me wrong on that."

She feels him come to stand beside her.

"Do you have any idea how happy you made me?" she asks. She's not trying to make him feel guilty, seriously—she just needs him to understand. "You made me happy. You helped me become the best person I could possibly be. And you helped me love that. _Myself. _And others, too. _You._

"I don't wanna pretend to understand love. But I know that it's something big—I know that it's something bigger than all of us. I know it's the basis of everything we do and everything we are. It's that strong, that _undeniable._

"And, it really does come in so many different forms, and it can really be strong in every way.

"Bellamy, I don't want you to feel guilty about this. About any of this."

"But I hurt you," he says softly. "All you've known is hurt and I just added more to it."

"But because of _you _I know what it's like to _not _hurt!" Echo implores. 

"I broke your heart," he states, almost a question.

"Yes," Echo says after a moment. "You did. But I healed. Do you know why, Bellamy?"

He looks expectantly at her.

"Because I still know that you love me. And because I love you enough to forgive. And that love changed for both of us, but it's still _there. _I still love you and you still love me. And I hope you can forgive me for not telling you about this sooner. Because it wasn't easy, Bellamy. None of this has been easy but it was _worth __it."_

"Echo, of course I forgive you," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. _"__I _should be the one begging for your forgiveness right now."

"No, you shouldn't," she says softly. "And I'd forgive you either way. Because you deserve that."

He looks up, tears clinging to his lashes.

"You and me," Echo murmurs. "We deserve love."

She turns her head to the Sanctum castle and nudges Bellamy with her shoulder. "And _she _does, too."

Bellamy blanches, his eyes widening and his honeyed skin turning pale. "W-what?"

"Come on, Bellamy," Echo sighs, smiling slightly. "You're not that stupid, are you?"

"No, I'm not, but..."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she assures him, touching his shoulder. "You and her? The two of you are forever."

"Forever," he repeats, as if the concept is unfamiliar to him.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Forever."

Bellamy presses his palms to his cheeks. "Holy _shit."_

"Don't tell me you just realized."

He looks at Echo again. "I'm so—"

"Nope, no, no," Echo says, clapping her hand over his mouth. "You're not supposed to be sorry. You don't ever have to be sorry."

He glances at the castle, almost longingly.

_Forever._

"It's okay," she says again. "I let you go."

He turns around sharply. "I don't regret this," Bellamy says, his voice trembling. There's genuine sadness in his eyes, but Echo knows it's not for her. She knows his heart is breaking, realizing what he's done, how he's hurt her, and she hates seeing him in such pain.

"And just know that I'll always—_always—_love you."

"I know," Echo murmurs. "Me, too."

* * *

Gabriel's just shutting down the monitors when he feels Octavia approach him. In just a while, he's learned to memorize her—the sound of her breathing, the pressure of her footsteps. She hops up onto a desk and stares rather beseechingly at him, searching his eyes.

It makes him feel vulnerable in a way he hasn't in many decades.

"Gabriel," she begins softly, "do you miss Josephine?"

He finds himself thrown off-guard by the question. No one's ever asked him before, what with Josie's... changes in personality.

“Even when she was in Clarke’s head," he begins cautiously, "I found myself drawn to the idea of her. Who she used to be. But I think I let her go a long time ago.”

He's startled to realize that he means it.

"There was someone," Octavia says softly. "Lincoln."

Gabriel looks up. Her green eyes are shining with unshed tears, clinging to her long lashes. 

"He was kind," she continues. "Kinder than most people I'd met in the world. I don't Lincoln was ever capable of hate, you know? He was an artist, too. He could sketch anything he sees. You know, like Clarke. And he was a healer, too. You've got an injury? Go see Lincoln. He'll have you good as new in no time."

She laughs softly to herself, a genuine smile appearing on her face. "He may have been good at fighting in them, but Lincoln hated all wars. I guess that's the one thing he did hate—hate itself, you know? Lincoln taught me how to fight."

"He must've been very good at it then," Gabriel murmurs, remembering the swords flashing in Octavia's hands.

"Oh, yeah. He was better than me. Not many people can claim that title," Octavia chuckles, a self-deprecating sort of laugh. "But he hoped that one day, no one would have to learn that. One day, we wouldn't have to fight for every breath, to see the sun rise again tomorrow. He hoped."

"What happened to him?" Gabriel asks, but he already knows the answer.

"He died," Octavia says tersely, all her light reminiscence gone. "Executed for doing the right thing. For helping people instead of killing them."

"Octavia..."

"I blamed _everyone," _she says. "Myself. My brother. Clarke. Everyone who existed, who spoke to me, I blamed them. I blamed them for not caring. I blamed them for not doing more. I blamed them for existing when he couldn't."

"And you just spiraled downhill from there, didn't you," Gabriel murmurs.

She lets out a bitter laugh. "You could say that."

A tear falls from Octavia's eye then. "I know I'm trying to be better, but sometimes I think of the things I've done and how _disappointed _he'd be in me."

"But you're not a hopeless case yet," he assures her. "I promise. You won't be."

She doesn't answer.

"Do you miss him?" Gabriel asks, almost afraid to hear her answer.

"Yeah," she answers. "But I think becoming better means letting go of my past."

She looks him in the eyes. "And I think I let go."

Gabriel swallows. "I like you, Octavia."

"Is it because I remind you of her?"

"No," he says sincerely. "Because you're _you."_

"Yeah, well, I don't hate you so much either," she murmurs, and Gabriel's intensely aware of how close they are, how he could count her eyelashes and specks of blue in her eyes.

"Is it because I remind you of him?" he asks, his voice low.

"No," she replies. "It's just you that I like."

The stars cast a soft light onto their faces, and in the night, Gabriel leans forward and presses his lips to hers, his heart rising higher and higher.


	8. Monty Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is faced with a hard choice yet again. Raven starts to understand the magnitude of her mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i love you please put up with my nonsensical and low quality writing

Raven Reyes is either first or she’s last. There’s no in-between for her.

See, she's the first in classes. She's the first option when someone's looking for a person whose head isn't in their ass.

At least, that's mostly the case until the ground is considered.

Her boyfriend is sent to the nuclear planet (the hell?) and he cheats on her with Alpha Station princess Clarke Griffin _(the hell?). _And she's angry, yeah. She's pissed. Her first kiss, first boyfriend, first everything.

People always pick _her _first.

Raven doesn't mean to be a narcissist—she just knows that she's not a total fool.

She'd be a fool to ever like Clarke Griffin.

But then Clarke Griffin, with her silky gold threads of hair woven into a crownlike twist around her head, tells Raven Reyes that she would pick her first.

Now, at this point, Raven respects her already. She's a leader, and she's not afraid to get her hands dirty. And she's smart, too.

Yet with those words, _I'd pick you first, _something else clicks. Love, maybe.

Finn Collins happens to be a blind fool in the face of warfare and Clarke Griffin is forced to bring the consequences upon them all. Raven understands that Finn has committed unspeakable crimes, but Raven's also heartbroken. And when she's sad, she's mad.

She chooses to punish Clarke for Finn's crimes. It's just easier that way.

And then Shaw dies, too. Shaw, the one who deserved to _live. _Knowing Clarke, she probably tried to save him no matter what the cost might've been. But still, Raven lets herself be angry at her.

She knows she can summon hell with the blink of her eye or the crook of her finger. She knows she can make people suffer.

Taking pride in being first is a thing of the past now. Now it only has consequences.

And Clarke Griffin will face every last one, for picking her first.

* * *

When Echo finally forces you into a routine of taking a walk twice a day, you find it's not as bad as you thought it would be. Echo said it would help if you took a walk early in the morning and just before sunset, where really no one would be around to bother you.

But there's a fundamental problem that you encounter this morning, a glitch in the code, a flaw in the system.

Raven Reyes.

You hear someone coming, thinking (hoping, maybe) that it was Bellamy or Echo or Murphy. But instead, the light touch between your shoulder blades is slightly familiar, but vastly, astronomically foreign at the same time.

It takes all of your self-control to not start screaming at whoever dared approach you, dared touch you when you don't want to be.

"Raven," you say finally, recovering from the shock of seeing the familiar brown hair when you turned around. Her big eyes are softer than you've seen them in a hundred years, literally, and you can't help but be alarmed at the lack of a scowl on her face.

"Can we talk?" Raven asks, fidgeting. That's new—Raven never fidgets, never makes a single movement to ever show that she's unsure of herself.

"We're talking, aren't we?" you ask listlessly. You're truly not in the mood for an argument right now, and you don't really want to provoke her.

"Yeah, we are, but there's more we need to talk about."

You internally start to think of all the faults of yours that Raven could start a war about now, and you can't help but thinking of it like the reflex to cower whenever someone raises their hand near you. You don't have that reflex—not with physical actions, anyway.

"I'm sorry," Raven says, so quietly you almost don't hear her.

But you do, and that makes all the difference.

"You are?" you ask.

"None of this is fair to anyone," Raven says, clutching her own elbows. "Especially not to you. And all the pain that you've endured for centuries, I know I've just added on to that when I had no right to. And I'm sorry."

How did they come to this?

In Raven, you had found a sister. A friend. And now, how could it come to a small apology from her for mentally torturing you and abusing you just because she wasn't your priority?

_She didn't torture or abuse—_

_Yes, she did._

If there's one thing you're learning, it's that not everything is your fault. 

And you can't just forgive her as if you both know everything's your fault. You can't do that to yourself.

_What's a little more pain, though, Clarke? What more do you have left to lose?_

_"Not an excuse," _you imagine Murphy saying.

Maybe there's some sincerity to her words. Maybe.

But hope is unreliable. Hope breaks hearts.

"You don't have to forgive me," Raven says into the unending silence.

"And I won't," you whisper. But there's a part of you that just has to take the blame, that just has to let yourself take the brunt of their attacks because that part of you just wants them to be satisfied even if it means the loss of your own happiness.

And that part wins, which is why you add, "Not yet." 

* * *

The next week alternates hazily between a blurry blend of events and sharp recollections, shards of glass mixed with faded cloth.

You go and see Madi four times, but you can never stay longer than five minutes.

It's hard, so hard to be near her—so hard when there's no one you can blame for this, no one you can punish, not even yourself.

How could you have known?

Regardless of everything, you entrusted Raven Reyes with Madi's life.

And she failed you. And there she was just seven days ago, asking for forgiveness, as if she took nothing, as if she didn't take your first love, as if she didn't take your daughter, as if all the hatred she's sent your way has been nothing.

She takes and she takes, and despite her good qualities, she never understands the consequences of her own arrogance.

_Raven Reyes is first, right? _ _She's always first._

Your thoughts turn bitter, and you glare at the suns. They creep steadily towards the horizon, the skies darkening and fading into a dizzying array of colors fading into another.

Maybe you would've painted it, another time. But these colors look lifeless to you now, doused and covered in a thin film of dull grey.

"Hey, Clarke!" a familiar voice calls, and you look towards to the sound of the voice to see Murphy jogging over to you. He stops just a few feet away, though, and walks the rest of the distance.

"Can I walk with you?" he asks amiably, and you have to admit that you admire the fact that he isn't speaking to you like one word will break all of your bones or stop your heart.

"Sure," you say. It's the easiest thing to say that you've said in more than a week.

He grins widely and hip-checks you, but his eyes are sobering. You realize that there must be some serious topic he wants to bring up later, but you're not compelled to push him away because of this. It's surprising.

"So," he starts. "What do lamps do when they're haunted?"

"Ugh, Murphy," you groan, pinching your nose. "What do they do?"

He smirks. "They throw shade."

You blink. "That wasn't even good."

"Shut the hell up," he says. "I know it was. Lampshades? Haunted lamps? Throwing things? Shades? Shade."

"How long did it take you to come up with that?" you sigh.

"Six seconds."

You quirk an eyebrow.

"It actually didn't take any time at all," Murphy says. "Emori was talking about lamps for some reason and suddenly this joke just popped into my head."

You nod, a small smile gracing your lips.

"Are you eating with us today?" he pushes. "You haven't in like, two weeks."

"I'm aware," you mutter. "I don't—I don't really feel like it."

"Raven apologized a week ago," Murphy says softly. You immediately step in front of him and whirl around, jamming a finger in his chest. "If you're here to make me accept her apology then you're full of shit—"

"Easy, Griffin," Murphy says, raising his hands up in surrender and stepping back. "That's not why I'm here. I'm just telling you what I heard. When and whether you accept her apology is completely up to you. No one should give you any opinions on that."

You wait one second, then two, before sighing and stepping back, your body relaxing slightly.

"You're so tense," Murphy observes, coming to walk beside you again. "Maybe you should just try and let it out somewhere."

"If you say Bellamy I'm gonna shove my knife so far up your ass—"

"A _great suggestion!" _Murphy interrupts, raising his voice to cut you off. "But that's not what I meant."

You snort derisively. "What _do _you mean, then? Yoga?"

"No, Clarke, it's not—"

He huffs and stops, and you stop, too.

"Everyone has to let go of the past at some point," he says softly. "And all the pain and memories that come with it."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it hurts me so much to see you like this," he says earnestly. "You're like, one of my best friends. And I just see your heart breaking every time I look at you and it breaks my heart, too.

"Murphy, what are you trying to tell me?" you ask.

"I'm saying," he says quietly. "That you should let her go. You should pull the plug, and you should try and heal."

"Murphy," you say, just as softly. "Do me a favor."

He looks up, his blue eyes meeting yours.

"Never say that to me again," you say.

* * *

With everyone else finally situated in different wings of the Sanctum castle, you have a little less privacy than before, but at least Josephine's room was isolated from a lot of the others.

You haven't gone in her study, though—you know you can't, can't be somewhere that screams about the girl who stole your face, your voice, _you._

But you're in it now, night having fallen long ago, and you take in the papers scattered across the desk, yet looking organized at the same time. Pictures of her original body and her original parents and her original friends, smiles frozen in time.

_They were lucky. You were lucky._

Not lucky to have lived forever, but to have gotten what they wanted. What they _wanted._

And then there's _you, _with your daughter brain dead several floors beneath you, the love of your life enjoying a perfect inevitability with a close friend of yours, and—

You scoff, smiling slightly. It sounds almost like a chick flick. And that's because you're afraid of reality, of the truth behind your emotions.

The reality? You're alone. There's not a single person left on this moon that genuinely cares about without it being an obligation.

_Murphy. Bellamy. Echo. Emori. Gabriel. Octavia._

Names, names. It doesn't matter. It never matters.

Besides, it's easier to pretend you're alone. Easier than facing the alternate, that there are people that care about you and now there's nothing you can do to meet their expectations.

You hate it. You hate how perfect everything is for everyone else, even for the long-dead Josephine, with her meticulously organized papers and her wooden horse paperweight and the fountains in the glass cup at the corner of the table.

Your foot collides with one of the legs of the chair, sending it toppling into the table and knocking the glass cup off the surface. The glass shatters against the dark wood.

_(perfect)_

You tear the pictures of Josephine off the walls and crumple them, throwing them across the room.

_(forever)_

You shove Josephine's folders off the table and you kick the chair again, reveling in the pain that shoots up your leg.

_(inevitable)_

You seize the paperweight off the table, glaring at it, your breathing ragged. You think of how much Bellamy would love it. How much Madi would love it.

_(alive)_

The horse collides with the floor, but it doesn't break, and that just makes you more frustrated. You realize that you're crying, no, _sobbing, _a scream building and building in your throat yet refusing to come out.

_(happy)_

You're hyperventilating and all the air is gone and the papers are flying into the room, your calloused palms rubbing against the smooth surface. You kick the leg of the table as well, your sobs building and your rage intensifying.

And then there are arms around your own, holding them to your body, pulling your torso towards something warm. Someone warm. You're crying and you're crying and you just _can't _let anyone see it, but you can't stop.

You can't stop.

You are a thought shooting into infinity, nothing to lose.

_"I have nothing!" _you scream, regardless of the warmth that surrounds you, the pounding in your chest and your head. _"I have—no one."_

"You have me," Bellamy Blake murmurs into your ear softly. 

_No, I don't._

_We don't get to have each other, not anymore._

_We are nothing. _

_We are nothing._

"You have me, Princess," he repeats, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You have me."

* * *

It's been yet another week since your breakdown in Josephine's office, and neither you nor Bellamy have mentioned it to each other.

The only remnant of that night is a bruised hand a bruised ankle, and the glass cup lying in pieces on the floor. The office was patched up, but you didn't bother to move the glass.

And you haven't set foot in that room in days. You don't think you ever will again.

Unity Day comes around, and you're surprised _that's _still a thing.

"We should celebrate it," Indra, of all people, had said when she told you about it. "In light of the recent tragedies, the people should have some time to enjoy themselves."

"What the people want isn't my responsibility anymore," you had said sullenly, but Indra had just smiled slightly and put her hand on your shoulder.

"I know, Clarke," Indra said. "It doesn't ever have to be again."

And a deeper promise had lain behind those words, _you don't have to take on all that responsibility anymore, I won't let anyone hurt you._

Now, you're at the top of the main stairs of the castle, watching the lights burn brightly and all the people, Wonkru and otherwise, get lost in a haze of dances and smiles and conversations, finally at peace.

You see Bellamy, sneaking glances at Echo, who doesn't glance at him, as she spends most of her time laughing with Emori. There's a deep sort of regret in his eyes, and a little bit of longing. It makes you sick, and you find that you can't look at it for long. You see Octavia sitting with her head on Gabriel's shoulder and smiling widely, and at some point you even see him turn his head to kiss her on the lips.

Murphy joins you after a while, shoving your shoulder lightly and smiling at Emori.

"Unity Day, huh," he says softly.

"Unity Day," you agree, remembering a different night like this one, with an apple clutched in Bellamy's hand and a smirk on his face.

"You think Monty would be proud?" he asks you, angling his body to face yours. "Of who we are now? What we've become?"

You have to consider this for a moment, and you realize that the answer may mean a lot more to Murphy than he let on. After all, Murphy probably became good friends with Monty on the Ring.

"No," you say finally, opting to be truthful. "No, I don't think he would."

"Why?" Murphy asks. "He wanted us to do better. And we are. We’re trying.”

"I know," you say softly. "But Monty wanted us to be _happy, _too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sheesh. that was a lot.  
I'm not doing previews of the next chapter anymore because that's WAYYYYYY too much work and I also think we're approaching a part of the story where I can't really do that without giving too much away.  
IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT OCTAVIA AND GABRIEL  
LIKE HELLO CHAPTER SEVEN  
and for those of you wondering—no, no one knows echo and bellamy broke up except them


	9. The Stories of The Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are revelations, and then there's a little bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i hope you don't find this chapter boring because it's literally all about feelings lmao

The story goes that the knight rescues the princess and they fall in love. Big deal.

Except, the knight is an asshole and the princess can heal with her touch and kill with her looks, and neither of them really need rescuing in the first place.

But in the knight there's uncertainty and self-hatred, and in the princess there is war.

The two weave together, and the knight and the princess become friends.

But the princess becomes a queen and she has to make all the choices and take all the punishments, and the knight can never be her king. There's too much war, too much blood between them.

Maybe they loved each other. Who knows? It was never at the same time, anyway.

Not that either of them knew.

The girl who looks like a princess yet wears the queen's crown, a bit too big, a bit too heavy, has fallen. The knight has laid down his sword and he has surrendered.

The knight and the princess are supposed to get a happy ending.

They don't.

* * *

It's not even a big deal—it's not supposed to be. Echo mentions it flippantly, casually.

The flowers stretch for miles a gentle wind ruffles your hair and Echo's too, blowing the long brown strands across her face.

"Bellamy and I are over."

It takes you a full minute to process this before you swallow. "I'm sorry. Do you need to talk about it?"

Your voice sounds painfully robotic, and the two of you glance at each other before Echo looks away. "I thought he would've told you."

"Bellamy and I aren't really talking that much," you admit, and Echo knits her brows together.

"Why not?"

You clasp your hands together. "I'm not trying to say I blame him for what happened to—what happened to Madi. I swear. It's just that whenever I look at him..."

Pausing, you clear your throat. "He did put the Flame in her head. And I just—I don't know what to do or say to him anymore. And on top of that he's expecting me to tell him how I feel, expecting me to talk to him as if nothing happened, and I just can't meet those expectations right now." You wince at that, sighing. "God, I know, I sound like an asshole."

"You don't sound like an asshole," Echo murmurs softly. "Even with all that's happened, I understand if you're pissed that people still have high expectations of your mental state."

"Either way," you continue. "I'm sorry about Bellamy."

She lets out a small snort. "It was a mutual understanding."

"Was it?" you ask, and there's that familiar tug in your chest, the voice murmuring _your fault, your fault, your fault. _"I'm the one who told you to tell him. I'm the only one who ever stood in the way—"

"Clarke, hey, _stop," _Echo says firmly, stepping in front of you. "This is—this is not your fault."

"Yeah?" you breathe, frustrated tears blurring your vision. "Tell me why it happened, then. Can you honestly say I wasn't involved?"

"You're making it sound a lot worse than it is—"

"Why do you still even care?" you ask her. "I'm the only thing that ever stood in the way of you and him. I'm really not trying to sound narcissistic, Echo, but I'm the reason this happened, right?"

She sighs through her nose, her eyes falling shut. "Yeah. You were."

You pull away from her grasp, trying to gauge where the opposite direction is. But this makes Echo snap to attention, and she grabs your arm. "Clarke, wait, _please."_

"I'm not _trying _to make this hard on anyone!" you choke out. "I'm not trying to ruin your lives!"

"And you didn't, Clarke, I _swear," _she implores, taking your hands within her own. "Clarke, it was _always _gonna be you and him."

You pause, feeling a warm tear inch towards your chin. "That's not true."

"Why not?" she asks. "The two of you deserve this. Each other. Happiness."

You sniffle. "It was never gonna be a good time. And he was _happy _with you and as long as he was happy I would be okay!"

"He's happier with you," Echo says softly, and you've run out of words to say.

Instead, you just shake your head, looking down.

"Bellamy's my family and we love each other," she states. "But the same goes for you. And his love for you is different and I've come to terms with that and I _really _don't want to have this argument, Clarke, because you and I both know it's not worth it."

"So what now?" you say. "I just go and jump onto Bellamy and choose him as my love interest now? I—I love him, but he's worth more than that."

"You want a matter of choice, Clarke?" Echo asks. "You choose yourself."

This gives you pause.

"You know what I'm trying to tell you here?" she continues. "I'm not telling you to go get a man to warm your bed and save you from danger. I'm telling you that _you _deserve to be happy and that, despite all the pain that you've endured, you now have an opportunity to restart and get some of that happiness. But I was also going to tell you that in order to find validation in another person you need to find it in yourself. First, you forgive and love yourself, and then you can love others."

Your eyes clear a little as you stare at Echo, framed by the sunsets. "Look, Bellamy and I were happy. But the pieces weren't quite in the right place. And I'm not trying to pass some metaphorical torch to you or anything—I'm saying I know he's always loved you more and he and I are on good terms. I'm saying that it's time we do things right, and it's time things go right for _you."_

"I don't know what that's like anymore," you say softly. "I don't know what that means."

Echo links her fingers with yours. "So go find out."

* * *

Raven had thought she'd have some pivotal moment of reckoning, and she did.

She just didn't expect it to happen when a wrench hit her on the head.

She swears loudly as she comes out from under the old car in Ryker's machine shop, rubbing her head.

Unbidden, an image of Clarke smiling rises up in her head, and Raven sits bolt upright.

_(tone generators don't grow on trees.)_

_("Hey, Raven?" Clarke asks, and though she pauses, Raven knows she has more to say. "I'd pick you first."_

_Oddly, this chokes her up for a second before she says, "Of course. I'm awesome!")_

She takes a minute to just _remember._

She remembers barrelling into Clarke's arms after a storm.

And she remembers hugging her again, remembers how she could feel Clarke shaking.

Wishing that Raven could say something, do anything to make her feel better.

Raven remembers _loving _her. Unconditionally. Freely.

Even after Clarke killed Finn, Raven remembers that inescapable tug of _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, my sister, my best friend._

See, Octavia and Bellamy were lucky. They got to be siblings. They got to have built-in best friends within each other, who cared, always.

And then Raven had found her, Clarke, who cared and cared. And Raven knew that Clarke loved her, too.

She can feel the rocket rising up into the sky and she can remember the sinking in her gut, _what about Clarke, what about Clarke—_

_What about Clarke?_

Sure, Bellamy had it bad on the Ring. But Raven did, too.

Anger's easy. Emotions are compartmentalized. So it was Raven's job to repair the holes that losing Clarke left behind on all of them. She found Bellamy sobbing in her old cell. She held Monty as he stared at the drawings on the floor, his head bowed and his shoulders shaking. She witnessed the day Murphy hurled the empty bottle of 100-year-old wine at the wall, screaming that it wasn't fair, she was supposed to be here, she was supposed to be alive.

Resent. Anger. Hatred. But there was love, before.

_(Every time you do something horrible you say you're sorry. But then you do it again.)_

Raven shakes her head, leaning against the car. "It's not true," she says to herself.

_(The only murderer here is you.)_

Clarke lost _everything. _And what had Raven done?

Blame and blame and blame, because it's just _easier._

_Nothing is ever supposed to be easy. And you're never supposed to make it harder for someone else._

_I should know that._

And how could two words even begin to express it now?

How could three?

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

She envies the way Bellamy and Clarke forgive each other so easily—but she also knows that it's because both of them understand each other, even when they're on opposite sides.

And Raven? She never even tried to consider how Clarke felt these last few months. Century, actually.

_Because it's easier._

And Raven doesn't deserve forgiveness, she realizes. Not after what she's done, after she became the horrible person that didn't care about anyone but herself.

The regret, the guilt, the shame, it knocks the air from her lungs, and now she's crumpled against the car door. She sobs, saying "I'm sorry, _I'm sorry" _over and over to a woman who isn't there and woman who will never, ever forgive her.

* * *

Who would've thought that the princess and mechanic would ever cross paths?

No, the princess is supposed to stay in her castle and the mechanic has to stay in her shop. The people break things, the mechanic fixes them. That's her job.

And then the princess finds her prince. Too bad the mechanic loved him first.

But the princess and the mechanic are far above the petty argument of _boys. _So they ditch the prince, and they become best friends. Sweet deal, right?

Yet, when the princess becomes a queen and has to make all the hard choices, the mechanic becomes ignorant to her pain.

She's just a mechanic—what can she do?

The princess and the mechanic were sisters. They were inseparable. Forever.

But the princess had a big crown now. And the mechanic hated her for it.

Easy for the mechanic, hard for the queen.

But they missed each other.

Always.

In the deepest corners of their souls, when one didn't have to wear a crown and the other didn't have to hold a wrench, they called to each other. They reached for each other, that love, that respect, that fought to overcome the hate.

* * *

_So go find out._

You walk past Ryker's machine shop on your way back to the castle, and you pause.

_Raven._

Strangely, you find yourself thinking about times when there was no animosity between the two of you, when there was just love, and respect.

You miss that time.

But right now, you hold it in your heart, and you vow to remember it forever.

* * *

The next morning, you find yourself looking at the flower fields, feeling more at peace than you have in a long time.

To be alone, and to think, and not about everything that's against you, but just to think. About the color of the trees, the shades of pink and purple in the flowers, to remember flowers in Madi's hair without feeling an extreme sense of anger.

Loss, you do feel. But at the moment, it doesn't choke your veins and steal your breath.

It's a rare moment, to just exist.

To just _be._

Someone approaches you. You don't turn to see who it is, but you don't ask them to leave, either.

"I guess the pain never ends," Raven Reyes says, bending down to touch the petals of a flower.

"Sometimes I feel like it never will," you murmur, watching her loose curls tumble down over her shoulders.

"I tried," she says, and her voice sounds stuffy, as if she's spent quite a lot of time crying. "I try to turn it into anger so no one can see. But I guess everyone gets hurt at some point. And I just messed up even more trying to make it seem like I wasn’t hurt. But I’m here. I’m here for you. If you still wanna pick me first, I’ll be at the front of the line.”

You blink and look away, knitting your fingers together.

"I know I don't deserve it, Clarke, I swear," Raven says, and you can tell she's fully crying now. "But I just want to try and earn it back. I want us to be _us _again."

_ Me, too. _

"I love you, Raven," you say, looking straight ahead. "And I want that, too."

You turn to her, tears in your eyes. "It's not going to be easy."

She has a steely gaze despite the tears clinging to her eyelashes. "It'll be worth it if I can show that I love you, too."

"It can't go back to the way it was right now."

"I know."

"I can't completely forgive you right now."

"I deserve that."

You surge forward and you hug her so tightly a choked noise escapes her lips, but she hugs you back just as tightly, if not tighter.

It's a start. It's a beginning.

It's a promise. It's an apology.

It's not even close to where she wants to be, but for the first time in over a century, you hope that you're going to get there.

You know the two of you will find each other again.

* * *

That night, Murphy, Emori, Echo, Clarke, Gabriel, Octavia, Jordan, and even Raven are all in the bar, just them. Murphy's not exactly sure what happened between Raven and Clarke. He knows not everything is okay between them, but he catches Clarke and Raven sharing small smiles as they all joke around. The smiles are still a little strained, but they're there.

Bellamy isn't there—he told Murphy he wanted to sleep over an hour ago, while glancing between Echo and Clarke. Murphy doesn't even want to know what's going on there.

And of course, Octavia and Gabriel are joined at the hip, Gabriel's hand covering Octavia's as it rests on the table. She's smiling almost all the time. She's happy. She's the Octavia that landed on Earth with all the beauty of opportunity shining in her eyes, all the rage and pain and death left behind. Octavia, as she deserved to be. Murphy's happy about that.

"Hey, guys," he calls, raising his voice a little so everyone would turn his attention back to him. "I've got words."

Everyone either jeers or encourages him to go on, and he does, his face feeling a little warm.

"I think we've been hurt a lot more than we should've been," he starts. "A lot of bad things happened to good people. A lot of good things got hurt when they didn't deserve it. But I think we should remember the hurt. The hurt is good. And we should look beyond that, and remember that we have each other. And that we can be happy. If we try."

He glances at Clarke, and she smiles softly at him, raising her glass. Everyone follows suit, teasing and yelling at Murphy, _god, you're so dramatic, _but judging by the way all of their eyes are shining with unshed tears, he knows that those words matter. And he knows that makes all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figured i'd give you guys a nice ending.  
anyone catch my st3 reference?


	10. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke decides to take some action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to What Happens Now? by Hans Zimmer while reading the first scene. If you wanna cry I mean

"Do you want to say something?" Murphy asks softly, staring at the drawing of Madi pinned to the wooden pillar at the corner of the flower field, a few daisies arranged neatly in front of it.

"She's not even dead," you say softly. "And here we are. Having to say a eulogy for her."

"It's just you and me right now, Clarke," Murphy assures you. "You can say anything you want."

You nod, and wait for a minute before clearing your throat and sniffling.

"Um," you start, as if there's actually an audience. "Well. Madi was—she was what kept me alive after Praimfaya.

"I met her when she tricked me into a bear trap, thinking I was a Flamekeeper. I liked her immediately. She was, um, she was smart for a six-year-old at the time. I remember finding an old comb at the village and brushing all the tangles out of her hair.

"And I did that a lot, over the next six years. Every night, I'd undo her braids and I'd brush her hair. I sang to her in English and Trig, both mostly English. I wanted her to learn—"

You clear your throat again. "I wanted her to learn so she could talk to you when you guys came back. And I, uh, I remember her swearing at me in Trig sometimes when I told her to talk to me in English. I remember teaching her how to fight and fish and hunt.

"I remembered that every single day, I'd wake up and I'd miss you guys so much that my chest would start to hurt and there would be a lump in my throat and I wouldn't be able to breathe.

"But then, after a minute, Madi would lean over me, and I'd see the sun shining right behind her because my bed was right by the window, and I remember its light kind of making part of her disappear, but I could see her pulling her hair out of her mouth and I could hear her telling me to get up and—"

You let out a sob then, and you collapse into Murphy's arms, closing your eyes and trying to pretend that when you opened them again Madi would be leaning over you, the sun shining around her head like a halo.

* * *

In the next week, it gets just slightly easier.

You haven't taken her off of life support yet, but something about that afternoon at the flower field with Murphy has taken off some of the weight on your chest.

Speaking about Madi was cathartic, almost. You know you'll have to face the day you really, truly let her go, but for now, it's just infinitesimally easier.

* * *

You stare out the window, watching raindrops gather on the glass. There's a dome around Sanctum and the climate is controlled within it, but the rainy day has cast the whole place in a grey haze.

_Does it get easier? _you had asked Murphy earlier that day.

_Maybe the loss never goes away, _he'd responded. _But maybe it gets easier to live with it._

Some days you can smile and you can laugh, and you can approach feeling like you can be happy again. But in the next minute, you're lost, broken, and afraid.

How will you ever know who you are anymore?

What chance does happiness stand in the face of grief, really?

_Maybe it gets easier to live with it._

You rise from your seat at the edge of the bed.

A song has been playing from the record player for the last 3 minutes and 49 seconds. _Songs from Liquid Days: No. 5, Liquid Days, Pt. 2, Open the Kingdom._

_Open the Kingdom, _the singer belts. _Open the Kingdom._

There's an unhinged desperation in the song, in the words, the voice, the instruments that sound like they're trying to keep up with the voice. You walk forward and your foot accidentally lands on a piece of cloth. It falls, and reveals a canvas with your face on it. Yours, but wearing Josephine's clothes. You step back, and the music crescendoes.

_"Returning love..."_

Your hands start to shake.

_"Returning with love..."_

The oxygen is gone from the room, and you feel paralyzed. You're back on that table, tears dripping from your eyes as Russell strokes your hair.

_"Then it was, written with love..."_

There are wheezing noises as you try to draw breath, trying and failing each time. You can feel yourself dying as you drop to your knees, trying to breathe.

_"Returning love..."_

You choke, drowning in a room with the air you so desperately want. The music gets louder and louder, and you breathe less and less. Your vision blurs and everything splits into two, and there's banging on your door and someone yelling and then brown hair filling your vision, a metal brace clanging against the floor, as you try to breathe.

"Clarke, Clarke, please look at me," Raven says, cupping your face.

"I can't—I can't breathe," you whisper. "Raven—"

"I know, I know," she says. The song starts to spiral towards its end, and the room suddenly plunges into silence. "But you have to keep trying."

"No."

_"Yes, _Clarke, I need you to breathe."

She's holding your arms to your body.

_Come on. _

_Just breathe._

_Just_

_breathe._

_b_

_br_

_bre_

_brea_

_breat_

_breath_

_breathe._

You're finally able to draw in a huge gasp of breath, taking a moment to take in the taste of the air.

"Raven," you say.

"Don't talk," she murmurs. "Keep breathing."

"I—"

"In and out, Clarke."

in

and

out.

"I can't stop seeing her," you choke out. 

Raven slowly pulls you up. "Clarke..."

You shake your head. "I'm okay."

She touches her forehead to yours, and for a moment it's like there's explosions and guns and war, and this small bit of contact is like a pulse of calm, an anchor holding you to the ground.

"Breathe," she says again, her large brown eyes never leaving yours. "Breathe."

* * *

At some point, you draw again.

You draw flowers, and Murphy sits next to you.

"Bellamy's in kind of a bad state," he says casually, and your head snaps up.

"Is he okay?" you ask. "Is he hurt—"

"He _misses _you," Murphy sighs. "You guys haven't talked in like, two weeks."

You don't answer.

"It's a matter of forgiveness, isn't it?" he asks.

"Forgiveness was never the problem," you say, setting the sketchbook down. 

"Love," he clarifies.

"Yeah," you say, looking down. "I love him."

You look Murphy in the eyes. "I love him so much that it scares me. And I don't know how to handle it on top of all the pain."

"I know he feels the same," Murphy sighs. "You've never seen it, but he falls apart when you're not around."

You arch an eyebrow.

"You guys need each other like the sky needs the stars," Murphy continues. "Which may sound like utter bullshit but it's true. You guys are... you guys are forever."

"Forever," you say, tasting it on your tongue, imagining Bellamy.

Forever.

"He'll wait for you forever," Murphy says.

"He didn't wait on the Ring," you shoot back, then sigh. "Never mind. That's unfair." You smile sadly. "Sometimes I forget that you guys didn't know I was alive."

"Either way," Murphy murmurs. "His heart was always yours. No one ever said anything, but anyone who ever saw the two of you knew. I always knew."

You look at him. "What do I do now?"

He snickers a little bit, but it has a melancholy note to it. "Not sure what to do when you're no longer fighting a war, huh?"

_"Murphy."_

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he asks. "Go. Find your happiness. We're right behind you."

On impulse, you hold out your pinky. "Promise me."

Murphy links his pinky with yours without hesitation, without even a trace of mocking in his eyes. "I promise."

* * *

Sunset, and a field of wildflowers.

"Hey," Bellamy says from behind you. "Thought I might find you here."

You turn to him, let your eyes wander over the curve of his jaw and his deep eyes. Seeing him, talking to him after so long doesn't seem so daunting anymore—it feels calm. Reassuring.

"I needed some air," you say.

He steps closer. "I heard about what happened earlier. With Raven and the painting. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"No, it's okay. I pushed you away in the first place."

"Don't blame yourself," Bellamy warns. 

"I'm not."

He smiles, and he must be feeling bold today, because he steps even closer to you, reaching out and taking your hand. "Don't push me away, Clarke. I'm your best friend."

You look directly into his eyes. "You are—_so much more—_than just that."

He blinks, but he doesn't move. "Are you okay, Clarke?"

"You want me to be honest?" you ask. "No. I'm not."

He nods a little. "I know."

"And I'm sick of pretending there's nothing between us."

Your heart is pounding, but it's steady. It beats and it beats, and you are alive. Afraid, broken, but alive.

“Tell me,” you say, your voice broken by the tears threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. “Tell me if you felt something.”

"Clarke, I felt _everything," _he murmurs, leaning closer, and you can see caramel flecks in his eyes, gold in the sunset.

"So _why _didn't you tell me?" you ask desperately. "I needed you. I need you."

"I need you, too," he murmurs. "And I couldn't _lose _you again because of what I felt. Clarke, I love you."

"After everything?" you whisper.

"After everything," he breathes. "And everything that comes after."

Your hands rise to grip the collar of his shirt, and then your lips collide.

* * *

Kissing Clarke Griffin is oblivion.

He's thought of it maybe a billion times, in the small moments when he touched her shoulder or looked out a window, small moments where he met her eyes and the world fell away.

He dreamed of the softness of her lips, her body against his.

He dreamed of _forever._

One of her hands release his collar to slide along the smooth skin of his jaw and then into his hair, fingers clutching at the curls that have returned to the unruly state they had been before Praimfaya. With one hand in the small of her back, Bellamy touches her hair, too, silken strands of gold weaving through his fingers.

The way she kisses Bellamy is unafraid. Unhurried, yet eager. He familiarizes himself with every line and curve of her lips, his tongue slipping past them to kiss her more deeply.

Bellamy kisses her like he has forever, because he does. 

She starts to lean backwards with the force of their kiss, but Bellamy is there, to support her, to hold her up. To be the other half of her, the song in her veins, the same way she is his.

Forever.

She pulls away to catch her breath, but her forehead is still pressed against Bellamy's.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" she asks. 

He smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "I think I do."

She tilts her head, her eyes slipping closed. She looks so at peace, so genuinely happy. "Really?"

"You know, I thought me physically reviving you might've been one of the _ten million _signs—"

"Ten million?" she asks, chuckling. "Gosh, Bellamy, I had no idea."

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Bellamy sighs. "I kind of hate your guts."

Clarke bursts into laughter, and it's Bellamy's favorite sound in the whole world. It's free and it's contagious, too, and soon he's laughing like an idiot as well. She kisses Bellamy in between her laughter, small, nipping kisses, and she kisses his nose, his forehead, whatever part of his face she has access to.

"I love you," she says with a smile. "I can say that now."

"Feel free to remind me whenever you can," Bellamy murmurs. 

"Same goes for you, Blake."

It's beautiful—he can taste her on his lips and he can see that she's turned gold in the sunset. 

Clarke Griffin is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and the most beautiful, strongest person he's ever known. And judging by the way she looks at him like he's her whole world, he knows she feels the exact same.

And for the first time since he laid eyes on the princess, shining in the sunlight when they set foot on Earth for the first time, everything falls completely into place between them.

* * *

"Hey, hey," Murphy pants, barrelling towards you guys. "Something's up."

You bite your swollen lip. "What is it?"

His next words make your heart stop. "Madi's awake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also listen to Say My Name by ODESZA ft. Zyra and reread that confession. Makes it 10x better and makes up for my shitty writing.  
I LOVE YOU GUYS COMMENT AND KUDOS PLS


	11. Epilogue

"Okay... again, but _slowly," _you say.

Madi swears, in English, and sighs. "I _told _you."

"You're telling me the code was just _gone?" _you say. "You're not exactly being overly specific."

"Okay, okay, fine," Madi says, sitting up in her bed. "There's a room, right? Sheidheda's there. "Ugly ass—"

_"Madi."_

"I was alive this whole damn time," Madi says fervently. "Clarke, I was fighting the whole time. And I heard every time they asked you if you wanted to pull the plug and—"

You pull her close, going cold at the thought of what would've happened if you had agreed.

"I fought for you," Madi whispers. "I fought him."

"If I'd known," you whisper. "I know you would've won."

"He told me love was weakness," Madi says, pulling away to look at you, and you can see traces of the older version of her.

Who she can be.

"And?" you ask.

"I told him it was bullshit and slammed his head into a table."

You laugh weakly. "I'm proud of you."

"I was almost dead," Madi admits. "I could feel blood on the side of my face and I was scared."

"So how'd you keep fighting?" you ask her.

"Easy," Madi says. "I thought of you."

* * *

"Jesus," Bellamy says, rubbing his temples. "That's three cockroaches to worry about now."

"She gets it from her uncle," Murphy says, fist-bumping Madi. She's still a little pale, but she's able to be around them now. Gaia watches her with a faint smile.

"And her mom, idiot," Echo says, rolling her eyes. "Would _you _have survived Praimfaya? I think not."

"That hurts," Murphy says in mock-pain, pointing accusingly at her. "You know—"

"Drop it, Murphy," Bellamy groans, reaching out to put an arm around your shoulder as he burrows his face into your neck.

"Yo, wait," Madi says. "Are you telling me this happened _before _I woke up?"

The gang devolves into cheers, but you can't remember feeling happier.

* * *

You still find yourself thinking about what you had seen in the Anomaly, the future you had seen with Bellamy.

You know he's wondering. You know he wants to understand.

And you're not ready now, but someday, you will be.

Someday, you'll tell him.

And someday, that future will be real.

* * *

People will wonder how you do it. They'll wonder how you made it, how you kept yourself together in everything that came after.

Truth is, you didn't.

But healing isn't impossible, you realize.

And happiness isn’t, either.

The world ends. The world begins again.

* * *

"Do you think Monty would be proud of us _now?"_

"Why do you ask now?" you ask, mesmerized by the sight of Bellamy's eyes shining in the starlight.

“You told me that Monty wanted us to be happy,” Murphy says. “Would he be proud now?”

"Yeah,” you say, putting an arm around Murphy’s shoulders. “I think he would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!!


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